


What Light From Yonder Window Breaks?

by facelessoldwoman



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Corporate Espionage, F/M, Family Drama, M/M, Single Parents, Spice Girls References, The Smiths - Freeform, cats and dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 87
Words: 67,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facelessoldwoman/pseuds/facelessoldwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its not easy being a single dad. Especially when the hot dad from across the way doesn't use their blinds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fools by Heavenly Compulsion

Thranduil massaged his temples; it had been a hell of a day. His subordinates bogged down progress with their incompetence, the weather ruined his hair, and then the school called to say that Legolas had been in a fight- again. By now Thranduil suspected that the boy  _must_  be doing this on purpose, so he rolled his eyes and hoped that it was some kind of phase.  _Let the boy prove whatever point he thought he was making, fine: then grow up._  Honestly, it was so undignified. 

When Thranduil finally made it home the house was dark and quiet. Legolas locked himself away in his bedroom, he knew better than to face his father after the mess he made at school that day. Good, Thranduil would decide on an appropriate punishment after he met with the school counselor on Friday.

As for tonight, Thranduil needed to clear his mind and cleanse his body. And he knew just what would to the trick, lavender. Lavender everything: lavender bath bomb, lavender body butter, lavender candles, and lavender body spray. Thranduil soaked in his bath for a long time running a comb through his hair and humming along to the music. He tilted his head back to lean against the wall of the tub and promised that he would only rest his eyes for a moment, just a moment. He listened to the song run through two more times and then he unplugged the drain.

 **Wait ...**   ** _Where was his robe?_**

The memory returned to him. Last night, after finding wet towels on the bathroom floor, Thranduil instructed Legolas to run the laundry as soon as he returned from school. Apparently Legolas also needed to be told to leave clean towels in the bathrooms while the laundry was running.  _Will that boy ever learn?_

What to do? Well, staying in the bathtub would _not_ do. Better go to the linen closet to see if the boy left any towels behind.

*             *             *             *             *

Bard sat alone at the kitchen table reviewing the bills for the month, feeling the hair in his beard growing grayer as he did the math. Bard heard his children laughing in the other room and he knew that it was all worth it (even if technically they were supposed to be doing their homework).  _Let them be children now_ , he thought.

Bard glanced to the side to look out of the kitchen window. The neighbors across the way had an inclination to leave the lights on and the shades open, so that Bard could see everything as though it were projected on a film screen. Bard had never been inside, but he knew that this was where Legolas lived with his father in a rather large and very expensive suite. 

Legolas attended the same school as Bard's children, although he was a few years older. Bard’s children knew Legolas because he supervised their youth soccer league. Bard remembered the patience and care that Legolas showed with Bard’s children, and how much they had improved under Legolas’s guidance. The few times when Legolas took to the field himself Bard marveled  at his grace and skill; the boy must be a star player in his own league.

What were Legolas and his father up to tonight? Eating a late supper or perhaps, or playing a game in the family room …

From an open window Bard saw Thranduil rise out of the bath wearing nothing but what the Good Lord blessed him with on his birthday ( _Amen_ ). As Bard watched, Thranduil walked out of the bathroom and into the hall. He appeared to be searching for something: first he opened a closet and then he went to the bedroom and looked inside a large wardrobe. Thranduil pulled out a dark robe, slowly drawing the fabric across the length of his shoulders and then tying the strap tightly around his waist. Thranduil crossed his arms around his body and called out to someone.  

A light went on at the other end of the apartment and Legolas walked from one room to the next until he reached his father. He was carrying a basket overflowing with freshly folded towels. Thranduil said something sharp but Legolas just rolled his eyes and handed him a towel from the basket. They spoke for a few moments and when Legolas walked away Bard could see that Thranduil was smiling after his son.  _Why was it that seeing this moment felt so much more intrusive?_

Bard was just about to turn his gaze back to his bills when Thranduil looked up at the window and winked directly at Bard… _how long had he known!?!_


	2. What’s in a Name?

The next night, in a reversal of form, the shades were drawn across the windows across the way. The dark windows contrasted starkly against the airy warmth the Bowman’s had grown to expect from their neighbors. Bard pretended not to notice but his girls mentioned it at dinner.

“Papa, do you think they’re on vacation?” Tilda asked.

“I wouldn’t know, sweetheart,” Bard said, “Eat your artichokes.”

“But we’ve got a game Saturday,” his son Bain spoke up, suddenly interested, “LG wouldn’t miss that.”

“LG?” Bard asked.

“It’s just a nickname the kids gave Legolas,” Bain said, “I didn’t choose it.”

“I see, so have you got a nickname, too?” Bard laughed.

“No!” Bain said.

“Yes he does!” Tilda said, “Black Arrow!”

“Black Arrow?” Bard asked.

“No one calls me that,” Bain blushed.

“Only everyone on the team,” Tilda said.

“That’s a lovely nickname,” Bard said, which only made Bain more embarrassed. Bard continued, “But I’ll stick with the name your mother gave you, just between us.”

Bain bit his lip and hugged his father, Bard smiled.

Bard went to sleep that night staring up at the moon; the blue light danced across the empty space in his bed. Sometimes the empty space was just too much and Bard gave up on sleep to spend the early hours watching home shopping on the living room couch, but tonight … the space was only space, and the moon was just the moon.

*             *             *             *             *

Bard didn’t know it, but across the way someone else was considering the moon. Thranduil looked up from his empty wine glass to stare at the Cheshire grin of the crescent moon.  

 _"Ithil,”_  Thranduil said,  _"Iston i nîf gîn"_

The stars held special meanings in the old language: there were myths and legends about the past and prophecies about the future- but now looking up at the sky only made him feel tired. _What else was there for him to see?_

Closer to Earth, just across the way, Bard and his family would surely be sleeping by now. That probably wasn’t such a bad idea.

“ _Ollo vae_ ,” Thranduil smiled, and then went to sleep.


	3. Council of Elrond

On Friday night Bard was called to attend a parent teacher conference at the school. Bard felt pressured to look as presentable as possible, which meant grooming his beard and matching his belt to his shoes. Thus satisfied, he left for the school.

*             *             *             *             *

On the night of the school conference Thranduil spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready. His hair was flat-ironed and shining, his clothes were dry cleaned and pressed, and his complexion glowed from a moisturizer he picked up on a business trip in the mountains. He pressed in white stone cufflinks and grabbed his favorite coat that billowed and swished dramatically.

“Look at the time!” Legolas cried out, “You’ll be late! Please hurry!”

“This conference is for me,” Thranduil said, “If I am late then they will just have to wait for me to arrive.”

“ _Ada!_ ” Legolas said, a hint of his child’s voice sneaking into his words.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Thranduil said, grabbing his phone and his keys, “Don’t fret, Little Leaf.”

*             *             *             *             *

Bard sat across the desk of a school counselor: both men knew they should speak but neither of them wanted to start until the third party arrived. Unfortunately the office was small and provided few visual distractions for a person avoiding the eyes of the only other person in the room.

Bard looked at the certificates hanging on the wall, thinking that they looked like they were printed off the internet, but said nothing.

Finally, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” the counselor said.

“Have I kept you waiting?” Thranduil asked.

“Not at all, Thranduil,” the counselor said, “Please sit down.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil said. He sat down in the chair next to Bard, reclining slightly with one leg propped over the other. He stared at Elrond for several awkward moments, “Well Elrond, you look very … healthy.”

“Triathlons,” Elrond said, his brow as hard as granite.

“It’s nice that you are keeping busy,” Thranduil said. The staring contest that followed was interminable. 

“So ...” Bard interrupted, “What exactly is the problem?”

Elrond coughed and turned to face Bard, “Over the past few months there has been a bullying problem at the school.”

“You are  ** _not_**  going to accuse Legolas of such reprehensible behavior!” Thranduil said, “I will not stand for it!”

“I never accused him of such a thing!” Elrond said, just as loud.

“Well, Bain would never hurt anyone,” Bain said quietly, “He has always been so kind to his sisters.” 

Elrond softened and relaxed his posture, “I am sorry to say this Bard, but Bain is one of the children being harassed.”

“He is?” Bard said, stricken, “He never told me.”

“He didn’t tell anyone,” Elrond sighed, “If he had spoken up we would have had this meeting sooner, but from all reports Bain was simply taking their abuse without reporting it. The students were older than him, he was probably waiting for them to grow bored and move on.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Bard asked.

“Excuse me, “Thranduil interrupted, “What does Legolas have to do with this?” 

“Ah yes, I was getting to that,” Elrond said, “Legolas confronted the alleged attackers. He managed to beat them all into submission before the teachers could break up the fight.”

“Good,” Thranduil smiled.

“ _Good?_ ” Elrond asked, "We had to convince their parents not to call the police.” 

“They didn’t call the police?” Thranduil asked, “Why not? Did their kids have too many priors to risk it?”

Bard snorted and Thranduil nodded appreciatively.

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” Elrond said. “A line has been crossed! Action must be taken!”

“Action has been taken,” Thranduil said, “Legolas saw to it that the deed was done.”

“We cannot condone violence against students for any cause,” Elrond said, “Legolas is suspended him from all extra-curricular activities: no more soccer, no more coaching.”

“But the kids love him!” Bard said.

Thranduil did a double-take, confused that the person who would be most affected by Legolas’s punishment would be another boy’s father. Thranduil laid a hand on Bard’s arm and spoke to Elrond, “We can send Legolas to counseling and revisit this discussion after the winter holidays, surely?”

“Well, I cannot promise anything,” Elrond said, “But if Legolas were to consent to counseling, we might … reevaluate his case in the future. Legolas does have excellent grades and the coach’s support.”

“Excellent,” Thranduil said, “I assume the other boys have been expelled?”

“Suspended,” Elrond said.

“What, so they can come back to school and harass his young boy again?” Thranduil asked, gesturing to Bard.

“The students needed X-Rays to make sure Legolas didn’t fracture any bones, they didn’t get off easy,” Elrond said.

“I’m not asking for Legolas, I’m asking for Bain,” Thranduil said, a patience touching his tone that was missing before.

“We have a three strike policy,” Elrond sighed, “But considering the other reports we received from students after this incident, if they attack another student they will be dismissed.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Thranduil said. And then he grabbed his coat and left without another word.

*                *                *                *                *

Bard followed Thranduil out of the office and chased him across the school lobby.

“Thranduil!” Bard said.

“What!” Thranduil said, turning on his heel, “Oh, Bard. Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you,” Bard said, “For everything. Legolas is a fine young man, all my children love him.”

Thranduil considered the words ‘ _young man_ ’ in his head. Legolas could live a thousand years but he would still be Thranduil’s Little Leaf. 

“Legolas speaks well of the children he mentors,” Thranduil said, “They must be admirable young boys.”

“One boy and two girls actually,” Bard smiled.

“My goodness, how do you and your wife keep up with them all?” Thranduil said.

“My wife passed several years ago,” Bard said, “But my children have never given me trouble. They work hard in school, and they look after each other at home. I think the kids are raising me, to be honest.”

“A loss like that makes children grow up faster, even when you do everything you can to prevent it,” Thranduil sighed, “My wife is gone too; Legolas was very young.”

“Does it get any easier?” Bard asked.

“No,” Thranduil said.

Bard patted Thranduil on the shoulder. Thranduil seemed surprised by the gesture, but he didn’t back away.

“I’ll make sure Legolas attends the game,” Thranduil said, “I don’t give a damn what Elrond says.”

“Thank you,” Bard said, and he watched as Thranduil walked away.


	4. My Word Is Law

When Thranduil returned home the floors were shining and dinner was on the table. Legolas was sitting meekly on the sofa and the television was off.

“What have you decided?” Legolas said.

“You’re suspended from after school activities, of course,” Thranduil drawled, “I offered that you would go to counseling until your case can be reopened. You  ** _will_**  be going to counseling. That’s  ** _not_**  up for discussion.”

“Yes, sir,” Legolas said. 

 Thranduil paused to consider his son. 

“You didn’t tell me that children were being bullied,” Thranduil said, “You should have told the school- this wasn’t your fight.”

“No one would help them,” Legolas said.

Thranduil nodded and then said, “I think I’m going to buy you a car.”

“What?” Legolas said.

“Your mother would be very proud of you,” Thranduil said, “She loved you more than anything, Legolas, more than life itself.”

“Thank you, Ada,” Legolas said.

*             *             *             *             *

“Bain!” Bard called out as soon as he got home.

Bard found his son in the kitchen with his sisters playing a table top RPG involving wizards and …  _elves_  or something. It was too elaborate and silly for them to ever explain it to Bard fully, but they seemed to find it endlessly fascinating.

As soon as the girls saw Bard come in they left for their rooms. Bain stayed put. Bard sat beside him.

“You were being bullied?” Bard said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bain looked down.

“Don’t ever be afraid to tell me anything, okay?” Bard said.

“Okay,” Bain said.

“Why didn’t you tell the school?” Bard said, "Why didn’t you speak out?”

“As long as the kids were beating up on me, they weren’t beating up on anyone else,” Bain said.

Bard saw Bain look out of the corner of his eyes to his sister’s room, and it broke his heart in two jagged halves.

“Oh son,” Bard said, hugging Bain tight.

“Is Legolas in trouble because of me?” Bain asked.

“That’s not your fault,” Bard said, “Legolas makes his own decisions.”

“He is in trouble then,” Bain said, his voice small.

“He can’t be your coach anymore,” Bard said, “Not for a while anyway.”

“Okay,” Bain said.

“I’m pretty sure he can still go to your game though,” Bard said.The light in his son’s face was enough to repair all the doubt Bard felt before, because he knew his son would be okay.


	5. She Doesn't Even Go Here

Bard looked forward to the game early Saturday morning. It would do the kid’s spirits good to have a fight to fight, and they might even see “LG.” Bard also wanted to see Legolas so that he could thank him in person for all that he had done.

Legolas did show up- but so did Thranduil. And he didn't just drop his son off, he took a place in the stands as the game started and showed no signs of leaving.

 _Thranduil never goes to these games,_ Bard thought _, His son isn’t even playing, he's just a junior coach._

Bard stuck close to the sidelines, cheering his kids on. He was quick to yell encouragement at the end of plays and to cheer whenever his kids took the pitch. Once or twice Tilda would look up and wave in a cute little embarrassed way, as if to say, ‘ _Yes, I see you papa, calm down_.’ 

Thranduil watched idly from the stands, the only time he ever looked up from his iPhone was to make sure that Legolas was behaving himself. He needn’t have bothered. Legolas stayed right beside Bard; he was less obnoxious as a cheerleader but he chanted encouragement every play of the game.

“Your son looks very much like you,” Legolas said.

“Thank you,” Bard said, “You take after your father as well.”

“Have you met him?” Legolas asked.

“He's hard to miss,” Bard said, gesturing over his shoulder. Up in the stands, amidst a sea of soccer moms, Thranduil was adjusting a pair of large sunglasses on the tip of his nose. He was using his iPhone front facing camera as a mirror.

Legolas rolled his eyes, “He’s not always so … theatrical.”

“Yes he is,” Bard smiled.

Legolas tightened his lips, but Bard just laughed.

“It’s okay,” Bard said, “I like it. He’s got style.”

Legolas looked at Bard as though he had just sprouted an extra head. They turned their attention back to the game. 

It was a close game with the teams tied for most of the play, but in the closing seconds Tilda got to assist in the winning goal and the crowd erupted in cheers. Well, Bard was cheering, anyway. 

Bard wanted to talk to Thranduil after the game. Bard reasoned that it was unavoidable: after all, not talking to him would be rude, right? But where to find him? After Bard pried the kids away from their friends and corralled them back to the car neither Legolas nor his father were anywhere to be seen. The kids were rallying for pizza by that point, and given that he was also starving he could hardly deny them. 

And so they left, and no meeting between the families took place.

*             *             *             *             *

Sigrid and Tilda went to bed unusually early that night. Bard wasn’t fooled; he could see the lamplight under their door and he heard the sound of them giggling. Bard suspected their giddy behavior was connected to the rattling of Sigrid’s cell phone all evening- no doubt some handsome young man was involved. Asking for details would only make Sigrid want to hide the boy from her father, so Bard just counted himself lucky that they were only texting for now. 

Soon there would be dating and dances and “ _the talk_ ”… only a few short years ago she had been afraid of cooties. Why can’t children grow up all at once? Instead they insist on sneaking up on you: one day learning the alphabet the next day borrowing the car. It’s disorienting.

“Papa?” Bain asked.

“Yes?” Bard said, snapping out of his reverie.

“Do you think you’ll ever get remarried?” Bain asked.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Bard said, “What makes you ask that?”

“During the game I saw Legolas’s dad in the stands. I asked Legolas where his mom was,” Bain said, “Legolas’s mom died when he was little, and ever since then his dad hasn’t had anyone else.”

“Oh son,” Bard said.

“What if there's only ever one person for someone?” Bain said, sniffing, “What if you don’t find anyone else, what will you do when we move away?”

“Who said anything about you guys moving away?” Bard said, “I thought you were going to live with me forever?”

“Papaaaa,” Bain sighed.

Bard wanted more than anything to divert the question with a joke, to say that everything was fine, and that he had loved their mother enough in the time they had together to last a lifetime. But that wasn’t true. Because the love he felt for her was like air, and having an unlimited supply of it at one time didn’t reduce his need for it in the future. Now he would spend the rest of his days gasping for it in quiet moments. Because to love someone meant missing them eventually, but he never thought it would come so quick or last so long.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Bard said.

“But I do,” Bain said.

“There are a lot of people in the world, as long as your heart is open to love there is still hope,” Bard said.

“Then why haven’t you been looking?” Bain asked.

“Because I’m a little busy looking after you three!” Bard laughed, “Give me some time, will ya?”

“Right,” Bain nodded, “But you’re okay, right?”

“Who’s the dad here?” Bard said, ruffling his son’s hair. Bain fought him off, pushing away with arms that weren't quite as long as his father’s … yet.

“I’m going to play Mario Kart, wanna play?” Bain asked.

“Not tonight,” Bard said, “Try asking your sisters, maybe they’ll stop texting long enough to play a game with you.”

“Yeah right,” Bain laughed, and he ran off to knock on their door.

Bard sighed and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He heard the girls agree to play and they all went into the TV room, soon the familiar sound of the startup menu came out of the speakers.


	6. Grandma - It's Me, Anastasia!

Thranduil spent the closing hours of the afternoon in a telephone conference with several other prominent members of his firm. There were the usual concerns: cost versus return, allocation of resources, and the choice of leadership on new projects. The fate and welfare of hundreds of people depended on these decisions; on the _careful_ , _deliberate_ judgment of everyone in charge.

Thranduil was on his third glass of wine before he hung up, and he called on Legolas for another bottle when the phone call was over.

“Is everything all right?” Legolas asked.

“I only drink when I’m happy,” Thranduil said with a stern expression. His voice deepened, as it often did when he was getting sleepy.

“My mistake,” Legolas said, pouring wine into the outstretched glass. Thrandruil shook the glass irritably and Legolas poured more.

“Did you want a glass?” Thranduil asked.

“No,” Legolas said.

“I’ll get you to try it one of these days,” Thranduil smiled, “Loosening up for once in your life might do you good.”

“I think you live loosely enough for the both of us,” Legolas said.

“If that is a veiled criticism about me, I won’t hear it, and I won’t stand for it,” Thranduil said.

“I’ll leave you to your Arrested Development reruns,” Legolas sighed. He left the room.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil walked from his place at his desk to the window. He opened the blinds and he could see in the windows across the way that Bard was looking out of his own window. Thranduil smiled and held up his glass of wine as in a toast. Bard smiled and held up a bottle of beer.

 _Kindred Spirits!_  Thranduil thought, and chuckled at his own joke.  _Oh my, how drunk am I?_

After this self-reproach Thranduil saw that the Bard's darkened figure was still standing vigil over his neighboring kingdom.  _What a nice figure it is too_ , he thought smiling. He set down his glass and twirled his finger to say, ‘ _Give us a turn._ ’

To Thranduil’s surprise and delight Bard gave a slow sauntering turn where he stood. Thranduil gave a little clap against his glass and Bard bowed gallantly. Then, Bard nodded suggestively back towards Thranduil.

Thranduil decided that he was going to enjoy this little game. 

Thranduil turned, ever so slowly, and once he was facing the away from the window he stopped. He glanced over his shoulder with a coy expression and brought back the collar of his robe to hang loose over his shoulder. The performance produced the intended surprise in his partner, and Thranduil needed no more encouragement to drop the heavy garment to floor. 

Thranduil was revealed to be wearing nothing but a pair of black trousers, which were already unbuttoned and now they threatened to slip off of his narrow hips. His torso was pale and long, and even longer now that he brought up his arms in an elaborate stretch in front of the window.

Bard’s mouth hung open _._

 _That’s what I thought_ , Thranduil rejoiced, and he shut the blinds behind him in a fit of mischievous delight. He drained his glass and fell in bed with his cheeks glowing with warmth from more than wine.


	7. And In the Darkness Bind Them

Bard stared at the closed blinds with his mouth hanging open: he felt foolish, he felt stupid, and he couldn’t help but feel impatient for more. His lizard brain wanted to race across the street right now to demand satisfaction. His better breeding won out and kept him glued to the spot where he now stood, but it was by a narrow margin.

“Papa?” a small voice asked.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bard asked.

“Is there any apple juice left?” Tilda asked.

“It’s after 9, get a glass of water,” Bard said.

“But it’s not a school night,” Tilda said.

“Are you thirsty or not?” Bard said.

“Fine,” Tilda sighed. He grabbed a glass from a high cabinet and poured her some water from the tap. She drank it in the kitchen while they talked about the game, her progress in school, and what she thought about her sister’s new boyfriend.

“She hasn’t got a new boyfriend!” Tilda said.

“Who is she texting, then?” Bard asked.

“Just a friend who’s a boy,” Tilda rolled her eyes, “They’re keeping it casual, papa, jeez.”

“Casual?” Bard said, “Is that what they’re teaching kids in school these days? Do you have dreams to one day keep it ‘casual’ with your prince charming?”

“That’s what I love about you, papa,” Tilda said, hugging him tight, “You’re such a romantic!”

“I thought it was my rugged good looks,” Bard said, stroking his beard for effect.

Tilda laughed, “Good night, papa.”

“Good night sweetheart,” Bard said. When she went into her bedroom this time there was no lamp light, and no giggling. For one of his girls at least, there was still a little time before she lost sleep to silly thoughts about boys.

*          *          *          *          *

Bard couldn’t sleep. His mind was filled with silly thoughts about boys. Every time he tried to picture a scenic meadow filled with sheep to count a blond head would come barging in to mess everything up.

 _It was just a game,_ Bard thought, _It meant nothing to him, he was humoring me_. _Thranduil will never mention it again except in laughing hints- to make a joke with a twirl about the room, a swish of the hips, a swish of the…_

Bard was late for his wedding. He had lost his ring, forgotten his vows, and his suit was missing. He was going to have to face the crowd of his friends and family (and HER friends and family) with no words, no ring, and no pants. He wanted to die, to melt on the spot rather than to face them. He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

But when Bard looked out from his dressing room into the church corridor he found that it was empty; there was not another living soul in the entire church. He had taken too long. They had all given up on him.

Everyone, save one.

Thranduil appeared in the dressing room without precedent or reason. Bard tried to cover his boxers with his hands but Thranduil just shrugged as if he needn’t have bothered. This was not the Thranduil of the school conference- cool and calm and authoritarian. This was the Thranduil of the voyeuristic window dance- undone trousers and his robe hanging off of his shoulders.

“They’re gone,” Bard said. There was nothing left to say.

“Such a pity,” Thranduil sighed. “Still, you tried,”

“I do not understand,” Bard said, looking out at the empty pews, “Why would they leave?”

“It is fruitless to reason with women,” Thranduil said, holding up his hands to reveal both of Bard’s missing rings worn on his long pale fingers, “They only understand one thing.”

“Where did you get those?” Bard tried to reason, to protest, “I need those, please!”

Thranduil just smiled as though he couldn’t hear him, and the dream fell apart to murky blackness.

*          *          *          *          *

Bard woke up with a start. He tried to feel the wedding ring on his finger but he stopped wearing it ages ago- it only served as a painful reminder to himself and to his children about what was lost. There was still an indent on his finger that remembered the pressure of the band.

Bard turned on the lamp and reached into the bottom drawer of his bedside table. There in the back, behind his socks, was the old wooden box. He opened the lid, feeling as though he were intruding on something sacred, and there he found the rings with which he made the most important promises of his life.

Those promises were only memories now, and the rings were only pieces of metal.

Bard tried on his old ring again anyway, and it was with the familiar presence returned to him that he felt at peace enough to sink into a full sleep.


	8. Beauty Rest

Thranduil woke from a fitful sleep with a throbbing pain in his head. The state of affairs was not at all improved by the clattering that emanated from the direction of the kitchen.

“Legolas!” Thranduil called out, his voice half-muffled against his pillow, “What are you doing in there?”

“What?” Legolas said. The clinking ceased and then there was the light padding of footsteps from the kitchen growing closer and closer until the door handle turned and opened. Legolas peeked his blond head inside. He looked down and said, “ _Oh my_.”

“What?” Thranduil said. He lifted his head and followed his son’s eyes. There was a pool of red spilled out from an overturned bottle by the window. The puddle of wine was sticky and red and congealed, undoubtedly sunken into the floor.

“A red sun rises,” Legolas said, “Blood has been spilt this night.”

“I blame Tauriel,” Thranduil said.

*          *          *          *          *

Tauriel was a ginger tabby cat with bright green eyes. They never officially adopted her; she simply appeared one day and decided that this was her home. Tauriel and Thranduil did not get along, but Legolas had a soft spot for Tauriel that Thranduil neither understood nor condoned. Tauriel followed Legolas around with a loyal ferocity, but she would just stare blankly at Thranduil whenever he entered a room. This did nothing to endear her to him.

How many times had Thranduil ‘accidentally’ left the windows open or propped open the front door while he retrieved groceries? The cat would simply not take a hint.

However, she did serve as a welcome scapegoat for everything that went wrong under their roof. Running late?  _That’s because Tauriel shed her abominable ginger hair on my jacket_. Something missing?  _Tauriel must have stashed it away somewhere_. Something broken?  _Tauriel strikes again!_

Thranduil was convinced therefore that Tauriel _must_ have overturned the bottle of wine, and no logic would part him from this conclusion.

“But Tauriel slept in my room last night,” Legolas said.

“Oh? And did you watch her all night?” Thranduil asked.

“But your door was closed,” Legolas said.

“I cannot begin to guess what that cat is capable of, Legolas, she’s just lucky that I have so much patience for her,” Thranduil said.

“I’ll get a mop,” Legolas sighed.

“Be a dear and get your father some Aspirin while you’re up, would you?” Thranduil asked.

“Of course,” Legolas said.

Thranduil sank gratefully back into his sheets, but he was not still for long.

“ _I know you’re there_ ,” Thranduil said, “ _Why do you linger in the shadows?_ ”

Tauriel appeared from behind the door, staring with raised ears and tentative posture. The cat would jump on the bed unless he moved, and this was the one place that Thranduil would never allow the entitled feline to lay claim.

“I will not give you hope where there is none,” Thranduil said. He threw a pillow at the cat so that she skittered away.

Thranduil smiled.

*          *          *          *          *

Even as Legolas mopped the floor he knew that there would be a stain in the wood. Thranduil didn’t say anything cross about it, perhaps because he knew deep down that there was no one else - _not even Tauriel_ \- to blame for the mess. Legolas guessed that his father would simply move his dresser a couple feet to the left or maybe he would just buy a fancy rug. Not all that glittered was gold, but as long as it covered a few feet of floor space it would be enough to pretend that this little debaucherous accident never happened.

Tauriel watched Legolas work from the windowsill with a relaxed and contented look on her face, green eyes slanted almost all the way closed in the mid-morning sun. She often followed him around, it was true. She was like Peter Pan’s shadow. Legolas had grown fond of her without realizing it, she made him happy.

Thranduil went about his morning business while Legolas scrubbed. Legolas heard the taps and the brushing of teeth from behind the bathroom door. Thranduil asked for him to step aside while he removed clothes from his wardrobe, and he spent the next few minutes debating his clothing options in silence- by the time Thranduil was finished dressing Legolas had long since finished his chore.

Legolas had returned to crafting an egg white scramble when Thranduil stepped out of the bedroom (wearing a white linen shirt that looked exactly like all his other white linen shirts). Legolas made sure to a plate to his father.

“So this is the reason behind the racket this morning,” Thranduil said.

“You’re welcome,” Legolas rolled his eyes.

“You know I appreciate it, don’t be stubborn,” Thranduil said.

Thranduil patted Legolas on the head on his way to the refrigerator, and Legolas fought with all his might not to make a sarcastic remark that would ruin his father’s good humor.

Thranduil turned around and asked, “Orange juice?”

“Yes please,” Legolas said.

After more bustling than Legolas suspected was technically necessary- Thranduil returned with two glasses filled with juice. Thranduil raised a toast, “To my favorite son.”

“Your only son,” Legolas said.

“Semantics,” Thranduil said.

They finished their breakfasts in amicable silence. Tauriel was underfoot as always, purring and rubbing against Legolas’s feet for attention and scraps.

“There is something strange in this drink,” Legolas said, “Fizzy.”

“It’s called a Mimosa!” Thranduil beamed, “Would you like another?”

“It’s not even noon,” Legolas said.

“Which is why we’re not drinking screwdrivers,” Thranduil said.

Legolas continued drinking. He liked the way the bubbles tickled his tongue. He felt bad for drinking under age, but the drink was so sweet that he was sure it wouldn’t sway him much.

“I saw something strange last night,” Legolas said.

“Hm?” Thranduil said, biting into a cherry tomato.

“Did you ever notice that you can see into the windows across the way?” Legolas said.

Thranduil nearly choked and he coughed until he spit the mashed red pulp of the tomato into a napkin. He composed himself and said in a hoarse voice, “I did not notice.”

“I think that  _they_  noticed,” Legolas said, “I believe Bard was looking into our windows last night.”

“We have neighbors, I would not presume to know where they look,” Thranduil said.

“He was looking into your window,” Legolas said. His voice was certain, for Legolas was no longer a child who could be convinced to ignore or disbelieve inconvenient truths. Legolas knew what he saw.

“Yes,” Thranduil sighed, “Yes he was.”

“Were you looking back?” Legolas asked.

“You know I was, Legolas,” Thranduil glared up at the ceiling and prayed to deities that he did not believe in to make this moment pass as quickly as possible.

“Do you like him?” Legolas asked.

“We hardly know each other,” Thranduil said.

“You know what I mean,” Legolas said.

Thranduil fumed for a minute. He debated how much of an explanation he owed his son-  _his **impudent** son who was supposed to be in **trouble** right now and who was **too young** to be having this conversation anyway_  … and … Thranduil shook the irritabilities out of his mind and spoke only what he knew to be true,

“I admire him,” Thranduil said, “And that’s more than I could say about most people.”

“He likes you,” Legolas said.

“He said that?” Thranduil said, turning sharply on his son, “What were his EXACT words?”

Legolas giggled, “He said he liked your _style_.”

“What else did he say, Legolas?” Thranduil said.

Thranduil set a hand on his son’s arm to draw his attention but Legolas pulled his hand away and pushed his chair out from the table. As Legolas rose to refill his glass he tripped over Tauriel and fell like a tree onto the hard wooden floor.

“Legolas!” Thranduil kneeled down to help his son, but Legolas who was giggling too much to be seriously hurt.

“I feel something,” Legolas laughed even harder, “A slight tingle in my fingers, I think it’s affecting me.”

“Lightweight,” Thranduil said.


	9. Breaking Ground

Newsprint is a dying art form, but an important one- Bard thought so, anyway. Bard considered the daily news to be nothing less than a miracle: a collection of stories about world events discovered and curated into a bundle of words and images to be consumed by the curious masses, created from scratch every single day. Stories are important. The stories of today become history of tomorrow, and we must be mindful of the stories we tell so that we don’t repeat the same mistakes again and again.

Bard was taught by his father to learn from his mistakes. Bard read the news.

Sunday edition was his favorite, there was something for everyone: comics for Tilda, sports for Bain, the cultural section for Sigrid, and the local news section for Bard. They would all pick up the heavy stack of paper and sift through until they found the piece that caught their interest, each person knowing without asking that the section they wanted would still be there waiting for them. Each of them would find their own little nook in the living room to get lost behind a large sprawl of thin paper.  

“Anything important happening, papa?” Bain asked.

“They are fighting over the Blue Mountain again,” Bard sighed, flipping a page, “Nothing good will come of it; nothing ever does.”

“Do you think the owner will ever come back for it?” Bain asked.

The Oaken Shield Corporation had a very long and complicated history in their mountainous home. Once upon a time the company came to build a passage between the mountains. This was a largely successful venture; the road brought jobs and trade and wealth to a region that had been isolated and disconnected before.

Then the business heads got ambitious and started drilling into the mountains. This new road would be much more direct and would connect their home to a neighboring city center. The call of industry was a powerful one, but the tunnels were too dangerous. Dozens of people died in a mechanical accident that brought down tons of rock and machinery over their heads. The public outcry and the lawsuits forced the company out of the mountains.

The town was still struggling without the Oaken Shield Corporation, but they were surviving. Some people wanted the company to return and finish the job. Bard remembered Mr. Durin (Oaken Shield CEO) breaking the ground for the project with his own shovel, smiling for the cameras.  _Did Thorin know then the havoc and heartbreak he would bring to these people?_

“For all our sakes, I hope not,” Bard said.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil hadn’t read a newspaper since Y2K. Twitter fit his sensibilities better, he liked to have his finger right on the ever-beating pulse. Every update, every hashtag, ever rumor was within his sight and he saw all. Nothing moves but I hear of it.

It was a rumor that caught his attention this morning. Rumors can be much more enlightening than an expose on the 24-Hour Daily News Cycle, and much less inane. A little bird told him that there was movement again at the Blue Mountain. People were looking at the construction site, asking questions, taking stock of the situation … almost as if they were interested in picking up where they left off.

“ ** _That motherfucker_** ,” Thranduil said.


	10. A Light in Dark Places

“The boy is troubled,” Elrond slid a thick manila folder with an unsigned contract on top across his desk.

“Then why don’t you speak with him?” Galadriel kept a level stare with Elrond but she did not open the folder.

“I know his father, it would not be appropriate,” Elrond said.

“I know the boy and his father as well as you do,” Galadriel said, “You know this, there are no secrets between us.”

Galadriel didn’t budge; she didn’t even blink.

“Will you not speak with him?” Elrond asked.

Galadriel once ran a high profile psychiatry business in the city but she retreated into the valley after she lost a patient. Her circle of patients diminished so much it was barely a practice. It made his heart ache to see her this way, but she was still just as elegant, just as brilliant, as ever. Elrond had every confidence in her abilities. In his mind there was no one better for the job, and he was determined to sign her on for the task. But the problem remained: he had no idea how to bargain with her, it was like entreating the mountain to come down to you.

Galadriel kept her level gaze, eyes cold as ice, “Tell me the real reason you do not wish to help the boy.”

Elrond propped his interlocked hands into a steeple on his desk.

“Galadriel,” Elrond said.

“Say it,” Galadriel said, “Speak true.”

“You know boy’s father,” Elrond said, squirming in his seat, “I can’t stand that son of a bitch. He’ll second guess every judgment I make, every word that passes in our sessions. I can’t make progress with him undermining my authority like that.”

Galadriel asked, “Then why me?”

“Because he respects you,” Elrond said, “And his boy worships you. They’ll listen to you. I know they will.”

Galadriel nodded, “And?”

“And,” Elrond said, “You’re the best.”

Galadriel smiled, “I’ll do it.”

*             *             *             *             *

Legolas entered into his first counseling session with low expectations. Legolas knew that if he skipped the appointment that his father would be mad, but he also knew that if he said anything that made his father look bad then his father would be furious. Best to take the middle road - If he just answered all of their questions and gave no reason for concern the counselor would grow bored with him and they would let him go.

“Greetings Legolas,” Galadriel smiled as soon as he walked in the door, “A star shines on the hour of our meeting.”

“My Lady,” Legolas said. He dropped his backpack heavily on the floor and he left it where it fell, “This is an honor that I did not expect.”

“You flatter me, please sit down,” Galadriel smiled.

The room didn’t have a desk. Instead there were two chairs with low sunken seats facing each other with a large window in between. This was on the third floor and you could not see anything out of the window, especially from the low seats. All that was visible was an early moon rising in the late afternoon sky.

Legolas sat down and Galadriel chose the chair opposite. They sat in mutual silence for what felt like several minutes.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Galadriel said.

“I thought you would be the one with questions,” Legolas said.

“This is your session, Legolas,” Galadriel said, one eyebrow raised, “We can talk about whatever you wish.”

Legolas paused and said, “It has been such a long time since we’ve seen you.”

“I know, you have grown so tall since we last met,” Galadriel said, “Almost as tall as your father, I imagine.”

“Almost,” Legolas said.

“And how is he?” Galadriel asked.

“The same,” Legolas said.

Galadriel nodded. She tilted her head to the side and asked, “Does it upset you? To talk about him?”

“No,” Legolas said. Instantly he knew he responded too quickly. He cursed his haste, his lack of restraint. She would pick up on that for sure and tear at this opening until every nasty family secret was revealed. He had already said too much, speaking about his father when he wasn’t present was betrayal enough. He prepared a mental fortification behind which he might hide, to shield all further inquiry with silence for the rest of the session, no matter how suspicious his behavior might seem.

“Well, send him my best,” Galadriel said, “I do remember him fondly, even if he doesn’t feel the same.”

Legolas was surprised that she was willing to let it drop. He did not dissemble his fortress but let down the drawbridge with a peace offering, “I will tell him as you say, but you should know that he is still fond of you.”

“Oh?” Galadriel said, brows raised.

“He would never say so but he finds it hard to stay mad at people when he loves them,” Legolas said.

“He’s always loved you most of all, though,” Galadriel said.

“I suppose,” Legolas said.

“Don’t be shy,” Galadriel said, “It’s more than a father’s pride, he treasures nothing on this earth so much as you.”

“I want to talk about soccer,” Legolas said.

“Very well, Legolas,” Galadriel nodded.

Legolas told her all about his training over the past few seasons and how he picked up the coaching assistantship for the younger kids this season. He talked about Bain and Sigrid and Tilda. He talked about the big game last Saturday and talking to their father for the first time.

Galadriel listened and asked questions. She seemed to be genuinely interested, especially when he mentioned his role as a coach and his relationship with the younger players. Legolas expected this, knowing that he would not be allowed to finish therapy until they satisfied their curiosity about the fights that landed him here. He tried to keep the lines clearly drawn.

“Bain never asked me to intervene,” Legolas said, “I acted on my own.”

“I understand,” Galadriel said. She looked out the window for a few moments and then asked, “You spoke with their father at the game- did your father attend as well?”

“Yes,” Legolas said.

“Does he often watch your games?” Galadriel asked.

“Almost never,” Legolas said, “I don’t even tell him when the games are, but this time he was adamant: he insisted that he accompany me if I wanted to go.”

“Interesting,” Galadriel said.

“Is that a problem?” Legolas asked.

“No, it is interesting,” Galadriel said, “Our hour is almost up, did you have anything else to tell me?”

“I must move on,” Legolas said, “I cannot linger.”

“I understand,” Galadriel nodded, “Go in peace.”

Galadriel watched Legolas go and only when he was gone did she pull out the manila folder from her briefcase. Inside was a photo of Legolas in his soccer uniform. Legolas was much younger, with nobly knees and a touch of curls in his light blond hair. Thranduil was not in the picture next to his son but he was still there. Thranduil was there in the freshly laundered children’s soccer uniform that retained the bright colors of his team. Thranduil was there in the healthy complexion of his young son. And judging by the shadow in the corner Thranduil was also the person who took the picture.

Galadriel smiled and set the picture aside, and began to write her session notes.


	11. I See Fire

Thranduil quit smoking shortly after he found out he was going to be a father.

Smoking was very fashionable at the time, or at least that’s what he told anyone who pestered him to quit. Even then everyone knew that smoking was terrible for you, though smoking did not yet carry the social stigma that it has today. Thranduil smoked a pack a day, sometimes more. There were ashtrays in every room of his home, and several outside for when he wandered out late at night to think ( _and to smoke_ ).

Thranduil remembered the night his wife told him the news. They celebrated and they talked about potential names and about their plans for the future. Late that night Thranduil left his wife sleeping in bed, and he went outside to smoke every last cigarette he kept in the house. It was a great purge; it was a last hurrah.

In the morning he threw out all the ashtrays and bought nicotine gum. He spent an entire week alone locked up in a hotel in the mountains trying to rehabilitate his lungs and to hide from his fellow smokers. He remembered the week as a combination of the worst hangover ever, and the worst cold ever. He felt like he was crawling out of his own skin and twice he called his doctor because he was convinced that he was dying. Once the immediate and overwhelming sickness of the withdrawal dissipated - he found himself locked in an endless battle with his own desire to start smoking all over again. Fighting the battle became easier with time, but he was still fighting every day.

Quitting smoking was the second most difficult thing Thranduil had ever done and he almost never regretted the decision, except on days like today when his nerves scratched at him like eagle talons.

Thranduil waited outside the school in his silver Lexus. Inside, Legolas would be getting the third degree from some ‘hired professional’ to determine the source of his behavioral problems. Thranduil knew the drill, they always blame the parents. Either Legolas was spanked too many times as a child, or not hugged enough. Somehow this was all Thranduil’s fault: it was his responsibility alone to bring the boy up and he had bungled it. 

Thranduil tapped his fingers with irritation against his center console. After almost two decades his fingers still remembered the feel of a cigarette: the chain of motions that dragged a case from his pocket to pull out a cigarette to light it up between gritted teeth, the taste of his favorite brand resting against his lips, and the first rapturous inhalation that sent the quieting nicotine coursing through his bloodstream.  _Oh, but he wanted it_.  

“ _Come on, Legolas_ ,” Thranduil said, “ _Don’t keep me waiting, not today_.”

Two minutes after the hour Legolas walked out. He kept his head down and walked directly to the car. He opened the unlocked door and settled in, buckling his seatbelt and resting his backpack on the floor without comment.

“Well?” Thranduil said. He held his hand in a fist to keep from tapping.

“It was the Lady Galadriel,” Legolas said, “She sends you her best.”

All the tension in Thranduil’s body released. Thranduil was unsure where he stood with Galadriel, but there would be no foolishness from her. She might even be able to help Legolas, if the boy needed it.

“Very well then,” Thranduil said, and then asked, “How many years has it been?”

“Twelve,” Legolas said.

“Yes, of course,” Thranduil said. He spared a glance at his son who sat quietly with his head bowed. Thranduil patted his son on the shoulder, “Why must our paths only cross in darkness?”

Twelve years ago Galadriel helped Thranduil through the hardest task of his life: saying goodbye to his wife and taking up the mantle of raising their son without her.

Galadriel was merciless to Thranduil. She refused to pity him when he wanted to retreat from the world, and he resented her for it. However, Galadriel was like a godmother to Legolas - a fairy godmother who showered the boy with kindness and motherly affection when he needed it more than ever. Galadriel made it clear that Thranduil had no choice but to keep moving forward- for Legolas’s sake if not for his own.

Thranduil credited her with their survival in that darkest of times, but once they could tread water again Galadriel went back to her practice in the city. They hadn’t seen her since.

“I miss her,” Legolas said.

Thranduil knew that Legoas wasn’t talking about Galadriel.

“I miss her, too,” Thranduil said.


	12. Like Shooting Stars

“So really, what did you two talk about?” Thranduil asked, he hoped to break his son’s vow of discretion with sheer repetition. So far it wasn’t working.

“We just talked about soccer, Ada,” Legolas said, “Really”

“Ridiculous,” Thranduil said, “Galadriel knows nothing about soccer.”

“Neither do you,” Legolas said.   

“Nonsense, I am the father of a terrific soccer player,” Thranduil said, “My son has scored many touchdowns.”

Legolas said nothing.

*             *             *             *             *

That night the shades were drawn closed. Legolas knew better than to comment on it, especially when he always walked on such a fine line of peace with his father. Legolas cooked dinner, Thranduil served the wine, and together they shared an amicable meal.  

Soon the meal was over and Thranduil sent Legolas to his room to finish his homework. Thranduil felt he should keep appearances that Legolas was being punished for his acts of violence. It wasn’t the violence that upset him, it was the foolishness of it- Legolas had so much to lose. Thranduil sighed and went to his own bedroom.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil wasn’t tired yet. He lasted about fifteen seconds before he pulled open the shades to look out across the way. His chest inflated with hope when he saw the children playing several windows down where their bedrooms must be, but that hope crashed and burned faster than the Hindenburg when he saw that the window where their dalliances took place over the past few nights was empty and dark. It was like reaching for an extra step only to have your foot pass through empty air.

Thranduil felt like turning off his own light. He felt like closing the shades. He felt like never looking out his window again, he was being silly. He was just about to move his wardrobe to block his window when he heard a plinking sound against the glass.  

Thranduil paused and then he heard another plinking noise at the window. It was a paper airplane hitting the glass, a projectile from all the way across the street. Thranduil opened his window and as soon as he did a third airplane flew inside and landed on his bedroom floor.

Thranduil picked up the paper airplane and looked out across the way. The window directly across from him was still dark … but now Thranduil could see that the window was actually open. Bard must have thrown the paper airplane from inside his darkened window. Thranduil waved experimentally across the way. A hand reached out of the darkness and waved back.

Thranduil turned his attention back to the airplane and could determine nothing special about it. He unwrapped it to see what kind of paper it was, and saw that on the plane white printer paper there was a message written across the page in all caps script:

**HEY THERE**

Thranduil looked back out at the still dark window and smiled, unsure what to do next. Before he could contemplate much more another airplane flew out of the darkened window and made the short flight to his own window. Thranduil opened it up and it said:

**WANT TO TEXT?**

Thranduil did not motion to respond, he simply wrote his number below the message and refolded the airplane. Thranduil hoped that the paper airplane wouldn’t veer off-course toward a different window as he threw it back to the sender.

The airplane was less elegant on the return trip. Refolding seemed to have damaged the structural integrity somehow, or perhaps the wind was less favorable from this side. The airplane dipped low before it reached the darkened window across the street, but a hand reached out and grabbed it before it fell.

Thranduil watched as a little light of a cell phone screen illuminated Bard’s silhouette in the darkened window, revealing the depth within an otherwise featureless space. Seconds later Thranduil got a text:

**HELLO?**

Thranduil laughed and replied,

_Stop using caps lock, it looks like you’re shouting._

A few minutes later Thranduil got a response,

**sorry about that**

_Think nothing of it._

**i was wondering why you kept your shades closed tonight**

_I was reconsidering my intentions with you. I was afraid that I have been using you ill._

**using me ill?**

Thranduil struggled a few minutes to respond, grasping for the proper words. He wanted to be clear and concise, but the last thing that he wanted was to come off as condescending when he broached what was sure to be a sensitive topic. After rechecking his spelling several times he hit ‘SEND’

_You are a widower. I know your pain but my wounds are not as fresh._

**you think that i am too wounded to know what i want**

_My regret is that I never asked._

**then ask now**

_What do you want, Bard?_

Thranduil watched the ominous ellipsis speech bubble pop in and out of existence as Bard typed in his response.


	13. What You Want, What You Really Really Want

Thranduil was glad that he wasn’t holding his breath, because Bard did not respond quickly. Thranduil sat in the quiet and the dark of his bedroom, looking out his window as he waited.  _The entirety of Oxford English Dictionary must have been retyped within text message form for how long he was kept waiting,_ Thranduil fumed as he watched the idling text message composition bubbles turn on and off.  Then Thranduil's phone darkened and he feared that no response would come at all.

When Thranduil finally received Bard's answer it was only three words:

**meet me downstairs**

Thranduil’s heart pounded in his chest. He grabbed his coat and after checking his appearance in the mirror for the briefest of moments (#FLAWLESS) he made his way to the front door. He nearly tripped over Tauriel on his way out, in the dark she was nothing but a flash of red hair streaking across the hardwood floors, but not even ridiculous ginger felines could slow him down today. Thranduil picked up the cat and chucked it in Legolas’s room. The cat was a hissing projectile that pounced on his surprised son.

“ _Ada!_ ” Legolas said.

“I’m going out, Legolas! Keep an eye on that meddlesome cat!” Thranduil said.

“Where are you going!?” Legolas asked, but Thranduil already closed the door. Legolas heard the front door shut behind him a few moments later. Legolas pet and shushed Tauriel until her fur wasn't standing on end, and he asked her, “ _What's gotten into **him?**_ **”**

Tauriel said nothing, instead she just kneaded gently against his chest and began purring. Legolas smiled and returned to his homework.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil raced down winding staircases, his hands sliding down familiar railings as he tried to keep his balance. He tried to focus only on making it downstairs without worrying what he would do once he got there, and he channeled his mind to a pure mechanical state:  _Clunk-Clunk-Clunk, Turn. Clunk-Clunk-Clunk, Turn._ The blind rush evaporated instantly in the cold evening air - that was where Thranduil saw Bard standing on the sidewalk, not ten feet away from where Thranduil now stood.

Bard was wearing a flannel jacket and dark jeans, his hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and stray curly strands fell forward to frame his face. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked at Thranduil as if he was unsure what to say.

“Thranduil,” Bard said, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Thranduil smiled.

*             *             *             *             *

Bard’s heart hammered away in his chest. His desire had finally brought him into action, but now that he had taken the leap he floundered in the open air before he hit the ground. Thranduil looked at him expectantly, his eyes held a question to which Bard had promised an answer.

Now the moment was here.

Now he had to answer:

_What do you want, Bard?_

Bard stepped forward towards Thranduil. The sounds of his shoes crunching against concrete sounded so loud in the quiet street that it unnerved him, but Bard was committed to this now. Bard noticed that Thranduil wasn't moving to join him, rather, he was rooted to the spot where he stood watching Bard advance. Bard kept walking forward until he and Thranduil stood face-to-face at last. Thranduil raised a thick dark eyebrow in surprise as Bard moved in even closer, close enough even to smell Thranduil's perfume- an oaky scent that reminded Bard of cold autumn mornings.

Bard stopped mere inches away, stopping to say, “You asked what I wanted, may I show you?”

“Please,” Thranduil said, his voice a deep and measured rumble.

Bard brought his hand up to Thranduil’s cheek. Bard felt the heat of Thranduil's blush radiate against his hand, and the softness of Thranduil's skin felt so soft against his own. Bard could feel Thranduil smile against him as Thranduil leaned his head suggestively, lips puckered and naturally pink, and before Bard could form another conscious though Bard pressed in to close the gap between them and brought their lips together. It was a small and gentle thing. Their mouths met for a long moment, tight and then loosened to each other and with a gentle breath. Bard paused to breathe as if he were afraid that he had forgotten how.

As they kissed Thranduil leaned into Bard, pressing a guiding hand on Bard’s lower back to draw him in closer. Bard folded into Thranduil, letting his body be pulled and molded as Thranduil willed. Bard sighed and he let go of every inhibition he felt: his doubts about what he wanted, his doubts about whether he was crazy for wanting it, and his doubts whether anything would ever come from all his mad daydreams. Bard settled into the crook of Thranduil's neck and relished this embrace so long imagined.

When Bard pulled back it was a shift of only a few inches, with his head still bowed. Bard could see silver light shining in Thranduil’s eyes and it all felt too spectacular to be real.

Bard asked, “ _And what do **you** want?_ ”


	14. Zigazig Ha

Thranduil felt like he was coming out of a dream.

This was all so sudden. Thranduil may have entertained a few ... _imaginative_ thoughts about Bard over the past few weeks- but to _see_ him now, to _touch_ him now? Thranduil could barely look at the man without wanting to plunge deeper down the rabbit hole, to explore the depths of these feelings until he woke up as a new person in a new world.

_What did he want? What **didn’t** he want?_

Thranduil stepped away from Bard and as he did something crunched under his feet. It was a paper airplane. A lot of paper airplanes, actually, of various styles and sizes, and several of them had scrunched up noses like they had hit a wall.

“What is this?” Thranduil said, picking up one of the airplanes to examine it up closely. As Thranduil looked above he knew he would see the window to his bedroom above them and a smirk spread across his face.

“Okay, so it took me a couple tries to get it right,” Bard said.

“There’s over a dozen of these things scattered about,” Thranduil said.

“Okay, so it took me a lot of tries to get it right,” Bard said, laughing nervously.

“ _Adorable_ ,” Thranduil said quietly, almost as if to himself.

“Listen, about tonight,” Bard reached out to grab Thranduil’s hand and said, “I hope I didn’t come on too strong?”

“Too strong?” Thranduil laughed, tossing the airplane aside, “You started this, you will forgive me if I finish it!”

Bard wasn’t sure what to make of that but then Thranduil was kissing him. Not so chaste this time, a hungry demanding passion in which Thranduil held Bard tightly in his arms and walked forward until he pressed Bard against the wall. Bard was too surprised to stand his ground, Thranduil may have even lifted Bard up off his feet in the scuffle. Bard didn’t say anything until he hit the wall with a thud. Then Bard let out a moan, a moan that dragged out for several long seconds as the kiss went deeper and his brain was filled with nothing else.

When Thranduil broke away he said, “I want _**you**_ : writhing and moaning beneath me until you forget your own name.”

“Holy hell,” Bard said, but he didn’t say no.

Thranduil continued, punctuating his words with kisses and Bard’s moans, “I want you in my bed and in yours, in every place where we might possibly be alone- so that there’s no place you can go without thinking of **_me_**.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bard gasped, ripping open Thranduil’s buttons and caressing his heated flesh within, feeling Thranduil's heart pounding beneath his fingertips.

“ _I want you_ ,” Thranduil said, dipping in close with his deep vibrating voice right next to Bard’s ear, “ _In your car_ , **_now_**.”

Bard didn’t answer, he simply pulled his keys from his pockets and pressed a button. Halfway down the street his car light up and let out a little beep as it unlocked. Thranduil smiled and kissed Bard on the cheek, dragging him to the safe haven on wheels.

If the two of them began right now, right now couldn’t start fast enough.


	15. A Light That Never Goes Out

Bard opened the door to his jeep, and then he held Thranduil’s hand aloft to help him as he stepped into the backseat. Thranduil smiled at the chivalrous gesture and dragged Bard in behind him, shutting the door discreetly. Inside the car Bard tumbled onto Thranduil's lap. Thranduil held Bard up with one hand and looked up, biting his own lip in anticipation. 

Outside the only noises were crickets and the soft sound of distant cars; inside they were encapsulated within a chrysalis of quiet. Bard looked upon Thranduil as a spectral figure shining in the moonlight with wild eyes and disheveled hair, but still as glamorous as ever. Bard felt along Thranduil's arms and marveled at the way Thranduil shivered beneath his touch, invisible hairs rising along his skin. Thranduil slipped his shirt down his shoulders and tossed it onto the seat behind him, long platinum hair tumbled down his bare chest.

Bard began to take off his own shirt, fumbling in his urgency against the cursed buttons, when Thranduil said, “Stop.”

“Huh?” Bard stopped in his tracks.

“ _Slowly_ ,” Thranduil said.

Bard hesitated for a moment. Bard focused on one button only, and when the top button gave way he began on the next.

“ ** _Slower_** ,” Thranduil said.

Bard looked down and saw that Thranduil was biting his lower lip (in a way that Bard was positive would reappear in his dreams later). Bard swallowed a lump in his throat and worked slowly, painfully slowly, down the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Thranduil watched Bard's patient fingers with rapt attention, his chest rising and falling with heaving motions, increasing in tempo as Bard got closer and closer to the bottom button.

Thranduil rose up and wrapped his arms around Bard, his arms reaching to pull Bard's shirt off from the collar straight down. The result was not freedom, but a form of back-armed bondage from which Bard was quite unable to wriggle free. Thranduil held Bard tightly there, kissing his neck and rocking against Bard as he moaned. Bard tried to free himself but Thranduil bit down on his shoulder playfully until Bard stopped. Only when Bard relaxed did Thranduil begin kissing him again. Bard felt Thranduil's warm lips leaving a trail of apologetic kisses against a bite mark sure to bruise by morning- Bard was so hard he thought he was going to pass out.

“What do you want?” Thranduil asked, his voice low and rasping.

“You, only you,” Bard said. His own voice had become coarse as well, as though he were overpowered by thirst- then again, perhaps he was ...

“Mmmm,” Thranduil said, “Say it again.”

“I want you,” Bard leaned heavily into Thranduil, “I want you like a bird wants to fly. I want you like the stars want to shine. I want you like fire wants to burn: to consume everything in its path, until nothing is left but wrath and ruin.”  

“You really are a Bard,” Thranduil blushed, pulling out a deep kiss from Bard that robbed him of all breath and sense.

Bard pulled out of his shirt. Bard made use of his reclaimed freedom by grabbing Thranduil by the shoulders and sending him flat onto his back on the seat below. Bard lowered himself slowly down over him, settling his arms on either side of Thranduil. Thranduil looked up at Bard like a child on Christmas morning about to unwrap their long awaited packages.

Bard reached down and unzipped Thranduil's jeans, reaching in and palming him as Thranduil arched up at his touch. In his head Bard offered a little prayer of thanks that some things seen from afar are far better in the flesh. Thranduil was already hard and moaning against Bard, and Bard began speeding his work, unable to keep himself from thrusting as he worked.

Bard wrapped a handful of Thranduil's long blond hair around his hand. Bard pulled the hair down until Thranduil jutted his chin up and Bard began working on Thranduil's neck like a Tootsie Pop – _how many licks until my beauty cracks?_

 _“If you,”_ Thranduil gasped _, “Damage my hair…. Fucking…. Kill you.”_

 _“To die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die,”_ Bard crooned softly. and as he began grinned at the shudder of pleasure that rolled through Thranduil's eyes.

“Now is not the time for the Smiths,” Thranduil whined, and as revenge Thranduil dug a hand up to wrap behind Bard’s back. Thranduil clawed an intricate pattern down Bard's back: smooth enough to boil his blood, deep enough to curl his toes, rough enough to leave marks for days. The symphony of sensation completely stole away Bard’s tongue and Thranduil was near enough ecstasy to cry.

Thranduil brought his hand to join Bard's and to help him increase the pressure. Thranduil slowed their rhythm and thrusted up against Bard in unconscious animalistic need- a damn ready to burst, a broken creature begging for mercy. Thranduil turned and pulled his hair free, kissing Bard’s hand delicately. That was when Thranduil felt Bard tremble; that was when Thranduil knew.

Thranduil wanted to bottle the noise Bard made and drink it on lonely winter nights. It was an unguarded and joyous noise, from so deep in the heart that Thranduil wondered how it was possible that it sprung from a man with eyes so touched by sadness.

Bard crumpled, and even in the aftershocks of his own joy he made to continue his work on Thranduil. Thranduil shook his head and whispered, “ _Not now_.”

Bard looked confused, scared of what he might have done to ruin this fragile moment.

Thranduil smiled and kissed all his doubts away, “ _I need to stop for a moment. I want to remember how this feels right now, you and me, before it fades away. Just, breathe a moment, please_.”

Thranduil pulled Bard back down over him, where Bard rested happily with their fingers intertwined. Their heartbeats began winding back into normalcy and small spasms of lust still shaking Bard down to his boots (which he never managed to remove in the excitement). Thranduil brought a patient hand up and down the trail he etched in Bard’s skin, as a reminder but also as an apology. Bard felt something welling up in his chest that threatened to break him. He looked at Thranduil, who nodded and held Bard close. Bard began crying.

“I’m sorry,” Bard said, trying to breathe as the crying shook him and turned into sobs, “I don’t know what’s got over me.”

“ _Shhhhh_ ,” Thranduil said gently, holding onto him even tighter, “It’s never easy the first time.”

“F-first time?” Bard asked.

“Your wife,” Thranduil said, “You still wear your wedding band sometimes, I’ve seen it.”

“Ever since she was taken from me, ever since we laid her in the ground, I tried to stay strong for her,” Bard said, “I tried to honor her. But seasons pass and there’s nothing left of her anymore, nothing to hold onto: her face is fuzzy in my memory, and I have trouble recalling the little things she said. I don’t know why it hurts so much.”

“Because it was real,” Thranduil said.

“I don’t want this to break me, I can’t,” Bard said, “I can’t let it.”

“You’re not broken,” Thranduil said, “You’re bleeding, but you’re not broken.”

“Is it easier?” Bard asked, “After the first time?”

Thranduil laughed and said, “I wouldn’t know, I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

Bard pulled away to look at Thranduil and saw that his eyes were wet, as well, and on seeing him something inside Bard broke. Bard never wanted to see these eyes he loved so much overcome with tears, no, never again; but Thranduil just smiled and rubbed his own tears away with the back of his hand as though it were a silly thing, a trifle. 

“All this time," Bard said, "And you waited until you got to me?”

“I’m patient,” Thranduil said, “I can wait."


	16. MEANWHILE, AT THE HALL OF JUSTICE

Legolas finished his trigonometry exercises and read a few acts of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He was going to resort to working on a term paper over a month early when he decided that he was more than caught up on his homework for the night. He peered out of his door, but the place was deserted. Legolas didn’t know what to think; it seemed like ages since his father made his exit. 

Legolas went into the kitchen for a drink (sniffing the orange juice to make sure that it was really only orange juice) and then knocked on his father’s door. Legolas knew the rules. Closed doors were to be left closed. But what harm would it do to investigate as long as he didn’t disturb anything?

His father’s room was much the same as it had ever been, and indeed looked undisturbed for the night: the bed was not slept in, there were no clothes in the hamper, the toothbrush in the bathroom was in place and the sink was dry. Legolas could only see one thing out of place, a rumpled piece of paper on the floor. There was writing on it, not his father’s writing, that read,

**HEY THERE**

Legolas had no idea where this paper came from or who had written it. It could be unrelated, a harmless note that his father had carried in his pocket all day… but if it was connected to his father’s sudden urgency to leave the house…

Legolas looked around the empty room, “ _Something draws near. I can feel it_.”

Legolas looked out the window but the apartment across the way was dark and quiet. His father’s car was right where he parked it, dark and empty. Legolas was confounded, but unwilling to let it drop. He tucked the note in his pocket for follow up investigation. Tauriel rubbed against his legs and he grabbed her before either of them could be caught in the act.

After all, his father could be home at any moment.


	17. Call Me Maybe

Now that the hormones were ebbing and the sweat was drying Bard didn’t know what to do or what to think. After he had eased his shirt back on he only felt more naked and exposed. Bard realized that he was horrified to go back home now; he was afraid that all that had happened between them would be denied in the light of day and everything they shared would mean nothing tomorrow, like a passing dream that ebbs out of focus with the ring of the alarm. It was enough to send Bard into a full panic- however, Thranduil was doing an excellent job of distracting him by massaging Bard's scalp. Bard sighed as Thranduil's long fingers worked their magic, splitting strands down the length so that they formed distinct locks.

“Are you braiding my hair?” Bard asked.

“Perhaps,” Thranduil said, pausing in his work to smile down at Bard.

“Just make sure I look pretty,” Bard closed his eyes with contentment.

“You don’t look pretty,” Thranduil said, “You look fucking sexy.”

Bard laughed, “I’ll have to take your word on that one.”

“No false modesty,” Thranduil said, “Surely you realize how alluring you are, the effect that you have on people.”

“Please,” Bard rolled his eyes, but Thranduil turned him around so that they were facing each other.

“I’m serious,” Thranduil said, “You have a strong body kissed by the sun, hair thicker and with greater volume than most women ever accomplish, and you have kind eyes- although a little sad. Don’t even get me started on your voice.”

“My… voice?” Bard asked.

“Has no one ever told you?” Thranduil said, “You sound like a knight from the old fairy tales, so chivalrous and kind and brave. Any time you speak it pierces my heart; it’s quite ruthless of you.”

“Why would you ever notice me?” Bard asked.

“Because you are incredible to behold," Thranduil brought a hand to caress Bard's cheek. Bard flinched but Thranduil stayed there until Bard leaned into his touch, and Thranduil smiled, "I couldn’t help but notice you.” 

Bard clung to Thranduil's hand and closed his eyes, committing to memory this soft flesh that felt so right against his own coarseness. It was after a long pause that he opened his eyes to look into Thranduil's: silver, ageless, untouchable. Bard asked, “Would it be useless for me to tell you how gorgeous you are?” 

“Please, I already know how gorgeous I am,” Thranduil laughed, but then he stopped, “But I never tire of hearing it. Do carry on.”

“You’re not beautiful in the same way other people are beautiful,” Bard said, “Beauty is usually symmetry or lack of faults, but for you, it’s a combination of all the features which when brought together and viewed as a whole bring out the most stunning being imaginable.”

“Is that so?” Thranduil said, resuming his braiding.

“It’s like you shine,” Bard sighed, “You do, you  _shine._  I don’t know how you do it, but when you walk in a room it’s like no one else matters.”

“Oh, but I  _do_  like you,” Thranduil said. He dropped Bard’s hair and said, “Finished!”

“What did you do?” Bard asked, reaching back to feel his hair. Thranduil lowered a mirror from the front of the car to show Bard what he had done: Bard's hair was pulled away from his brow with a small compact braid flowing all the way to the end. It was as impressive as it was practical.

“I do this for my little leaf sometimes, when he lets me,” Thranduil said, pulling Bard’s hair back.

“Little leaf?” Bard asked.

“Legolas means green leaves,” Thranduil said, as if everyone knew that, “Someone neglected their Sindarin studies.”

“I’m afraid that wasn’t part of my education,” Bard said, “But I’d be happy to learn.”

“You would?” Thranduil asked, smiling.

“There’s nothing I don’t want to know about you,” Bard said, but he was stopped from continuing by a string of giddy kisses, which is how Bard knew that he had spoken right.   

They rested in each other's arms until the air around them felt cold and the lateness of the night was undeniable, but still neither man moved. Eventually Bard broke the silence:

“Thranduil?” Bard asked.

“Yes?” Thranduil said.

“We’re starting something here, aren’t we?” Bard said.

“Yes, something good I hope,” Thranduil said, “Time will tell.”

*             *             *             *             *

Bard pulled away first, his children were younger and surely they were alarmed by his prolonged absence. Thranduil smiled because he understood, in fact he knew better than anyone. They hesitated outside the jeep, the night air seeming so much colder than it was just hours before. Thranduil jingled his keys in his hands.

“Should we tell them?” Thranduil asked. Thranduil was never one to hide his affairs or his allegiances, but he didn’t know if either of them wanted two sets of children involved so soon.

“Maybe we should wait,” Bard said, “If we are going to tell them we’re dating, we should probably go on a proper date first, right?”

“Is that an invitation?” Thranduil asked.

“Do you have plans Saturday night?” Bard asked.

“I do now,” Thranduil said, kissing Bard and walking up to his door. He turned before he went into his building and said, “Call me!”

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil hoped that Legolas would be in bed already, but as he stepped up to his door he could see that the lights were on and he could hear the muted sound of the TV through the door. Obviously Legolas was still awake, and Thranduil would have to face him if he wanted to make it to his bedroom tonight. Thranduil steeled himself, let out a deep breath, and unlocked the door.

Legolas looked up at Thranduil as he walked in. Legolas turned off the television and said, “You’re late.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight, Legolas,” Thranduil said, tossing his keys on the counter.

Legolas looked Thranduil up and down noting his unbuttoned shirt and messy hair. Legolas raised an eyebrow and said, “You look terrible.”

Legolas smirked with satisfaction at the look of pure indignation that swept over his father’s face then he picked up Tauriel and walked straight to his bedroom. Tauriel hissed as they walked by. Thranduil decided against throwing a shoe at his son- after all, someone in this family had to be mature.


	18. All Hail Apollo

When you worked for Thranduil you learned to stay in line. Anyone who lasted longer than a week knew better than to disobey his orders or to question his reasons. Thranduil kept a team of advisors whose counsel he used to make decisions, and there were a select few he trusted enough to assign tasks and then leave them to their own discretion. Anyone else? You talk back to the boss and you would be sent to pack up your desk.

As an intern, Arwen fell into the latter category: allowed to stay with the company so long as she didn’t make waves. She could make coffee, not waves.

The trick, Arwen knew, was to figure out quick what kind of mood her boss was in: if you knew which way the wind was blowing you could ride out any storm. Some days when she tapped on his office door to remind him of appointments he appeared to have forgotten who she was, other days he would bring her into his office where he would rail against people and projects for close to forty five minutes while Arwen watched without speaking (during these tirades it was obvious that her boss wanted an audience, not a discussion). But then, on rare afternoons, when the sun was setting and the phone lines were quiet- Thranduil would tell her to walk with him. They would discuss her school work, her professional aspirations, and her current prospects. Thranduil actually gave excellent advice and he assured her that considering her potential and his connections her next job could be where ever she wanted. On days like this she was very glad to have her little title in this large kingdom, one day she might even rule her own.

Arwen was thrown off guard when Thranduil strode into the office ten minutes earlier than usual.

“Hello, sir,” Arwen said, bowing her head as per usual.

Thranduil stopped at her desk and said, “Hello, Arwen. How are you doing today?”

Thranduil was … _smiling_. Arwen considered herself a student of Thranduil’s moods and this one was definitely new. He even remembered her name. Arwen wondered if Thranduil was murdered last night and replaced with an agreeable robot.

“I’m doing very well, sir, thank you,” Arwen said, “How are you doing this morning?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Thranduil said, tossing his coat on a rack without even looking. He cross checked his appointments with her and gave her a list of assignments to complete for the day. Then he went into his office. Before he closed the door Arwen saw him open the window and unless she was hallucinating she could have sworn he was whistling.

Arwen turned to Glorfindel and raised her eyebrows as if to say, _Can you believe this shit?_

Glorfindel was another intern in their company; he was often confused for Arwen and many times they each had to explain who did what around the office. Glorfindel swore he could save a man’s life in the front lobby and people would just forget about it and assume that Arwen did it. Despite this, they were good friends. Glorfindel smiled back at Arwen and then they both set back to work, because there ain't no rest for the wicked (or the interns). 


	19. Great Serpents of the North

Miracles are special because they are rare. Thranduil’s good mood lasted for an entire twenty minutes before the shit hit the fan and anyone with a dispensable job title held on for dear life.

It all started with an innocuous phone call. Arwen answered the phone and a man with a very deep and sophisticated voice asked to speak with her superior. The man identified himself as a member of the Oaken Shield Corporation. Arwen was new, but one of the few things that she was told on the day that she started her job was that the Oaken Shield Corporation (and all of their affiliates) were on a black list. Not just a black list, a burn list. No one spoke that name aloud within these walls, it was worse than AIDS and cancer and dead puppies combined.

Arwen put the man on hold and, voice shaking, called Thranduil to tell him who was on the line. All the vibrance and mirth drained out of his voice and he was cold when he said that he would take the call in his office.   

Arwen didn’t know what to do. She was certain that she made a mistake. She couldn’t read the words on her screen or hear the words people spoke, she kept diverting her attention to her boss’s office to see what the result of that phone call would be. Finally, she crept up to his door to listen at the small opening to what was being said.

Arwen didn’t catch the rest of the conversation but she snuck up to the door to in time to hear the voice on the other end of the phone say, “A favor for a favor?”

Thranduil said, “You have my word, one business man to another.”

“I would not trust you to honor your word should the end of all days be upon us!” the voice said, “You lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once seeking your help, but you turned your back!”

“Do not speak to ME of that!” Thranduil said, “I warned you what your greed would summon! You would not listen! So go ahead, stay there and rot! Wait a hundred years for all I care, it will be the blink of an eye to me!”

Thranduil did not wait for a reply. Thranduil did not hang up the phone. Thranduil pulled the phone out of the wall and smashed it against the ground sending shattering pieces all around the room and even a few whizzing past Arwen’s ear. Thranduil was breathing heavy, and he collapsed into his chair where she could see him clenching and unclenching a shaking fist. She wanted to retreat, but she knew Thranduil well enough to know that she couldn’t sneak away from him. He knew she was there.

“I’m sorry you heard that, Arwen,” Thranduil said, by way of greeting.

“Do you want me to get another phone?” Arwen asked. She stepped into the room to speak with him. He did not turn around.

“No, I don’t want to take any calls right now,” Thranduil said.

“You’re still mad?” Arwen asked.

“I’m afraid,” Thranduil said, “I know better than anyone what will happen if he does what he plans, what I know he plans to do. Do not speak of this to anyone, Please.”

“Of course,” Arwen said, surprised most of all that for the first time he asked her to do something rather than telling. Before she left she said, “Your time will come. You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it.”

Thranduil sighed and said, “That is all, Arwen.”

Arwen left.


	20. Once More Unto the Breach

Arwen went back to her desk where a little man in a velvet burgundy coat was typing on her computer.

“What are you doing?” Arwen asked.

The man looked up. The man was nervous, but not enough to reveal his true purpose. He looked down at the screen and said, “Sending an email.”

“That’s a private machine!” Arwen said as she walked ever closer, preparing to yank him away from the keyboard, “That’s a massive security violation, how did you even get past the password?”

The computer made a wooshing sound of a sent email.

“GLORFINDEL!” Arwen called out, her voice catching on the last syllable. She reached out to grab the little man but instead of running away or pushing her aside he ducked and slipped out of her grip, disappearing from view as though he were invisible. Arwen reached down for him but he had crawled under the desk and ran as fast as possible down the hall.

Arwen ran after him but he slipped nimbly through groups of passerby who then bristled and demanded explanations from Arwen. When she reached the outer doors she was met with a wall of cars and people passing by which swallowed the little man out of sight.

Arwen screamed, certain that she had just lost her job.

*             *             *             *             *

On her way back inside Arwen bumped into Glorfindel, “Where have you been?”

Arwen turned with anger on him, “Where were **_you_**?”

“A man walked up to my desk and said that you were downstairs and that you were in trouble,” Glorfindel said, “I went as fast as I could but I couldn’t find you anywhere, I was out of my mind with worry!”

“What did this man look like?” Arwen asked.

“Short, curly hair, and a dark red coat,” Glorfindel said, “What does it matter?”

“I wasn’t in trouble, I was a distraction,” Arwen said, “He needed you out of the way so he could get to my computer.”

She dragged him up to her desk so that they could return to the scene of the crime. But when they got there they found something quite unexpected. Thranduil sat down at her desk looking with narrowed eyes at the page on her screen. He was calm but simmering with anger when he said two words:

**_“Oaken Shield.”_ **


	21. Do Not Meddle

Bard worked on the water running ferries and freight across the lake. What little trade was left in the town came down the river; it was the town’s last lifeline pumping thin blood down anemic veins. The water was dark and cold but it suited him. Bard could read the waves and the ripples against the shoreline like astronomers read the sky.

Back in busier days an entire fleet would be on the water, and the lines to get across the water would still stretch half a mile. Today Bard expected little, no cargo was on his ledger save for groceries and the mail truck. It wasn’t enough to turn a profit, but it would have to do.

That was why Bard was surprised to see an old man walk on the dock after he finished untying his boat. The man was dressed all in grey with a long coat and a wide brimmed hat covering his eyes. He carried a pipe in one hand and around the other were the leashes for at least a dozen dogs: Chow Chows, Pomeranians, a grumpy looking bulldog and a couple of beagle puppies.

“Can I help you?” Bard asked.

“That remains to be seen,” the old man said. The puppies started fighting and the old man shook them apart with a foot, the movement long practiced and automatic.

“Well, if you want a ride, you’re awfully late,” Bard said. He was holding onto the pier with an oar, preparing to shove out into the still waters.

“I’m never late,” the old man said, “Nor am I early, I arrive precisely when I mean to.”

“Well that’s nice,” Bard said. The man seemed to speak entirely in unhelpful riddles, and Bard wondered if all old people were like this. He tried to remember his own grandfather, but all he could remember of the man was how he used to take out his teeth to scare all the kids. Bard sighed and asked again, “Do you need a ride?”

The old man smiled and said, “I accept your offer.”

“Great,” Bard said, and he began retying his boat to the pier.

*             *             *             *             *

Once the old man paid for his ticket and boarded the boat Bard untethered and pushed off. He settled into the old motions of swinging the boat around the face the town on the other side of the lake. He found his groove against the waves and the currents and checked the radio for any updates from town.

The old man was trying to smoke in the morning mist, a losing battle, and the little dogs didn’t help with their barking and moaning.

“I don’t think they have their sea legs,” Bard said, “How did you wind up with them?”

 “Oh, they're quite a merry gathering. Once you get used to them,” the old man said, “I took on a contract to take them from here to there, a favor for an old friend.”

“What did you say your name was?” Bard asked.

“Gandalf,” the old man said.

“What’s that mean?” Bard asked. He wondered if it was Sindarin.

“I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me,” Gandalf said, “What do they call you?”

“Bard,” Bard said.

“And this is,” Gandald turned around to point out the each of the dogs in turn, “Fili, Kili... Oin, Gloin... Dwalin, Balin... Bifur, Bofur, Bombur... Dori, Nori, Ori...”

Bard nodded attentively and returned his attention back to the wheel. That was when he got a text from Thranduil:

          _Oaken Shield is back. Need you here._

Bard didn’t need to know the context to know that it was serious. He typed out a response as quick as his thumbs would allow him:

          **will be there ASAP**


	22. Like a Goddamn Apple Store

Bard dropped off the cargo and enlisted the help of a coworker for the return trip, a grateful scoundrel tired of babysitting the loading bay. The old man and his many, many tiny fluffy dogs acted like he knew where he was going, although Bard noticed that as he left the dock the old man started walking down a dead end street. Bard wondered, and not for the first time, what was actually in that ever present pipe the old man carried.

Business finished, or at least successfully placed on hold, Bard hopped in his jeep to drive as fast as he could downtown. Downtown was a little bit of a misnomer because the tallest building was four stories, and the ‘urban center’ didn’t even have a proper department store. However, the firm where Thranduil ran his little empire was seated in one of the older buildings. The architecture was from a different time period from the rest of the surrounding buildings; the supporting arches were darkened and rather ominous. The building was once prestigious but now fought to maintain the façade of power, diminished but still proud.

Bard found a back street to park, fumbling for quarters to keep the meter maid at bay. Alfrid was a sycophantic little prick and Bard had no time for his games today. Bard locked his car and went to see just what Thranduil needed of him.

It was the first time that Bard had ever been inside this building, and he was surprised to see that while the outside was a relic of times past, the inside was a modern and functional space. All the lighting was warm, all the walls were subtly padded to keep sound from reverberating, and the technology was all the latest and most impressive models. Everyone was drinking out of trendy coffee cups but there wasn’t a café nearby so it must be in-house.   

The receptionist was a dark haired young woman. Bard was stricken by her blue eyes when she looked up at him from her desk. He didn’t know what to say- until a blond haired young man walked up and said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Thranduil,” Bard said.

“Do you have an appointment?” the man asked, with a tone that indicated that he highly doubted that Bard had such an appointment.

“I was summoned,” Bard said, “Ask him yourself: tell him that it’s Bard, he’ll want to see me.”

The young woman perked up at the name and said, “Glorfindel, let him through.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows suggesting that whatever code or signal she had picked up he was still unaware. The young woman continued, “I will inform Thranduil that his guest has arrived. Glorfindel, get a coffee for our guest, unless you prefer tea?”

Bard stepped back, “Just water will do, thanks.”

Glorfindel nodded and stepped away to some mysterious place where the coffee and the tea and the water was kept. The young woman extended her hand for him to shake, “My name is Arwen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Arwen,” Bard said, shaking her hand.

 “I’ll fetch the boss,” Arwen said, “I’ll be right back.”

Bard stood awkwardly in the abandoned lobby, he could hear phones and the clicking and clacking of keyboards. People walked by but their eyes were averted, despite the number of busy people all around it was a determinedly quiet place. It felt so lonely to him.

Glorfindel returned with an unopened bottle of water. The label was French. Bard thanked him and Glorfindel nodded and walked away without another word.

Bard was beginning to question what he was even doing there when Arwen stepped out and motioned for him to follow, “Thranduil will see you now.”

Bard followed.  


	23. How Soon is Now?

Thranduil was going out of his mind. He was too angry to think, he was too angry to move, he was almost too angry to breathe so he forced himself to meditate. He emptied his mind of all thoughts and counted his breaths. He transported himself to a familiar realm: dark, personal, alone.

He heard a voice in his head. This was not one of the usual suspects: the voice of his father before him casting a shadow too large to escape, the voice of his wife whispering that she would always be with him, the voice of Galadriel telling him to let go and to stop being selfish. This was a new voice.

“ _There’s nothing I don’t want to know about you_ ,” the voice said. Dark hair, messy curls, a voice that brought Thranduil to his knees. It was a voice Thranduil welcomed into all the deepest chambers of his heart, eagerly.

“Hello,” Thranduil said aloud.

“Hello Thranduil,” Bard said.

Thranduil opened his eyes and there was the man, real and standing in the very office where only moments ago there had been no one. Thranduil smiled.

“You drove here in that jeep of yours, didn’t you?” Thranduil said.

“Of course,” Bard said. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Thranduil stood at his chair to watch Bard. As Bard walked in he kept his face forward but didn’t encroach any closer, each step a parry rather than an advance.

“What did you think about?” Thranduil asked.

“What else could I think about?” Bard asked.

Thranduil smiled and held out his hand. Bard stepped forward, tentatively, and accepted it. Thranduil walked in close, settled against the curve of his shoulders so that he might lean on him, but he held back. Their hands were intertwined at their sides while their bodies held close, powerful forces attracted like the Earth and Moon.

Thranduil whispered into his ear, “ _I would have you on this desk. I would fuck you so hard that you would never want to leave.”_

 _“But you won’t,”_ Bard whispered back.

Thranduil kissed him, drawing sustenance in a way that neither food nor drink could satisfy. When Thranduil pulled back it was with a heavy lidded ecstasy that he responded, “Not today, we have work to do.”  


	24. To Defeat the Huns

“You got my message?” Thranduil said.

“Yes, Oaken Shield,” Bard said. His posture straightened and his gaze tightened; all the ease in his expression evaporating like summer rain.

“Not just Oaken Shield,” Thranduil said, “Thorin himself.”

“Thorin, _here_?” Bard said, “He wouldn’t dare.”

“I don’t joke about these things,” Thranduil said, “I know it would be nice to pretend that this was a social call, but I would not pull you away from your life unless I needed you.”

Bard reached out and squeezed Thranduil’s hand, “What’s happened?”

“Thorin was caught trespassing on land that I own, up near the mountain,” Thranduil said, “The local law enforcement held him in custody until they could track me down to see if I would press charges. I spoke with Thorin myself. I tried to reason with him. He spurned my offer and insulted my honor.”

“He insulted your honor- while he was in jail for trespassing on your property?” Bard asked.

“That was the situation, yes,” Thranduil said.

“What an uppity little asshole,” Bard said. Thranduil smiled.

“I didn’t have the opportunity to resolve the matter with the officer,” Thranduil said, “I … overreacted and was no longer able to use my phone.”

“You threw your phone against the wall?” Bard asked.

“No, I wouldn’t do that. That would leave a hole in the wall,” Thranduil said, “I threw the phone as hard as I could on the ground.”

“Of course, much more sensible that way,” Bard said, smirking.

“Quiet, there’s more,” Thranduil said, “After this phone call we had an unauthorized user on one of our computers. Checking the sent messages revealed an email with my signature clarifying that I did not wish to press charges. I called the officer back and Thorin has been released from custody.”

“So what does this mean, what comes next?” Bard asked.

“I am willing to do whatever I can to stop him. I will bring the full weight of my legal team against them. I will rally every person who ever competed against his business or held a grudge against him. I will withhold his resources and starve him out,” Thranduil said, “But I know his next move, and I am ill-equipped to stop it.”

“What is it?” Bard asked.

“Thorin will reach out for public support: people are desperate and afraid, they’re vulnerable. He could sway them, you know it to be true,” Thranduil said, “Out there in the vast ignorance of the world fear festers and spreads: a shadow that grows in the dark, a sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night.”

“Someone needs to speak out,” Bard said.

“Yes,” Thranduil said.

“And you want me to do it?” Bard asked.

“People listen to you,” Thranduil said.

“No they don’t,” Bard said. His breathing was heavy. He walked to the window and watched people pass by: nameless, faceless, unknown. _What made him any different, why was this his fight?_ He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass, “I’m just another guy. I have no claim in this town.”

“You could **_run_** this town,” Thranduil said, “These people need you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Bard said.

“It’s precisely that simple,” Thranduil said. He stepped forward and rested a hand against Bard’s shoulder, “It isn’t easy- but it is simple.”

Bard remembered the darkness: the chaos and the fear, the loss and the people who were left behind. He watched a line of people cross the window: mothers, fathers, daughters, sons. These were his people. He would not let this happen to them again.

“I’ll do it,” Bard said.


	25. Speak Friend and Enter

Outside the office, close enough to stand guard but infuriatingly not close enough to overhear, a pair of over-worked and under-appreciated interns sipped coffee and discussed the new developments.

“So,” Glorfindel said, “You obviously know the guy. Who is he?”

“Everyone knows Bard,” Arwen said.

“He runs the ferry service, obviously,” Glorfindel said, “Doesn’t explain why Thranduil would accept him without an appointment.”

“Well,” Arwen said.

“Well, what?” Glorfindel asked.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but,” Arwen questioned how much to divulge. She didn’t want to gossip but she so rarely ever had anything to gossip about, and Glorfindel looked like he was about to keel over and die from anticipation. She cleared her throat and continued, “Well, you know how Thranduil has conversations with me in his office sometimes?”

“You mean when he talks to himself for forty five minutes straight and forgets that you’re in the room?” Glorfindel said.

“You forget, Glorfindel, that I’ve seen you muttering to yourself when you’re making coffee,” Arwen giggled at his blush. Thus silenced, Arwen continued, “Anyway, I don’t understand most of what he says. I don’t know who he is talking about or what the projects are, and so it’s hard to piece together what’s going on. But last week he started mentioning Bard.”

“Well, go on then,” Glorfindel said, “What did he say?”

“Nothing positive!” Arwen said, “I thought he hated him! It was all ‘ _The man obviously doesn’t own an iron_ ’ and ‘ _His little ankle-biters are going to get my Little Leaf kicked out of school._ ’”

“So he hates him?” Glorfindel said.

“I would say so- if it were only that,” Arwen said, “But Thranduil ruminated on the issue so much, like a favorite little itch. Sometimes he doesn’t even complain, he just asks if I know anything about Bard and what my impressions are- he even listened.”

“He listened to you?” Glorfindel said, “I’ve been here two years and he still calls me ‘ _Hey You!’_ ”

Arwen ignored him, “Then today he comes in such high spirits, and when everything goes wrong Bard is the first person he calls? The writing is on the wall, _mellon_.”  

Glorfindel thought about that for a moment. They both stared at the door, imagining what was happening inside. There was a stranger in their midst and the new territory was tenuous.

“So… Thranduil’s finally getting laid?” Glorfindel asked.

“Hopefully not right now,” Arwen said.

“Oh My God, Arwen!” Glorfindel said.

“ _Don’t you two have work to do_?” a deep voice spoke through the door; suddenly neither of them were secure that any or all of their conversation had carried through to the other side.

Mortified they returned to their desks, clicking as loud as possible to prove how busy they were.


	26. An Unexpected Journey

Bilbo was too old for this. He sprinted down a city street dodging cyclists and motorists, all the while looking over his shoulder to see if he was still being followed. What was he doing here!? This isn’t who he is, this isn’t his life! The most strenuous and daring thing he had done in the last five years was repair his roof.

*             *             *             *             *

When Gandalf asked him to go on an adventure he assumed they were going hiking, or maybe skiing. Even that fell widely outside Bilbo’s comfort zone but after some pushy cajoling he agreed to hear Gandalf’s proposal. That was when Gandalf introduced Thorin (Gandalf had a talent for accruing surprising friends) and they expected Bilbo to be a hacker, like some kind of bad Keanu Reeves movie.

Bilbo was not a hacker. Bilbo was not a cutting edge thinker who could break into advanced systems. He was a landscape artist. He hacked geraniums.

Gandalf didn’t care, though. Gandalf was convinced that Bilbo was the best man for the job- and he convinced Thorin that he should ignore Bilbo’s utter lack of relevant skills and experience and take him along for his new venture anyway.  And now Bilbo and Thorin were a team. And it was actually kind of working. They made it all the way across the country: bankrupt, chased, and harassed, but still scraping by. Now here they were, in the shadow of the mountain itself. That was when the cops showed up.

Bilbo had a talent for knowing when to make himself sparse, and he had avoided the men in blue. Thorin, however, lacked all such subtlety. Bilbo bit his tongue as he watched Thorin dragged away in cuffs.

Thorin said this might happen: he knew this land belonged to a local business owner now and that this man would sooner rip off his own dick than let Thorin on his property knowingly. So they had trespassed. It seemed a small thing, at the time. No one lived on the land. No one was using it. It was a forest surrounding out of use commercial property, who would care?  

The cops. The cops would care. _Stupid, stupid._

Bilbo was afraid that he would have to visit Thorin in prison from now on if he didn’t intervene so he decided to pay the property owner a little visit.

Bilbo didn’t approach the meeting with bad intentions. He wanted to be direct. He wanted to ask nice. His entire life he could rely on hard work and good manners to get him through his day. But when he entered Thranduil’s building the first thing he heard was the man screaming on the phone telling Thorin that he could rot in jail for all he cared. Then Bilbo heard a crashing noise, obviously the collateral damage of some sort of tantrum. Bilbo’s dreams for diplomacy abruptly curled up and died.

Bilbo looked around and found an empty desk. The monitor was idling, waiting for the user to return and enter their credentials. Bilbo saw a nametag on the desk (‘ _Arwen_ ’ he thought, ‘ _Pretty name’_ ) and entered in a likely abbreviation for a username, and then wrote ‘password123’ for the password. That didn’t work. He substituted ‘qwerty’ for the password and still got nothing. It would lock him out for real if he messed up again so he decided to just paste whatever was on the clipboard into the password box. The desktop appeared.

“Wait, what?” Bilbo asked, “That worked?”

He opened up the email program, searched their menu, and typed as quick as he possibly could (which wasn’t very fast, considering that he still only used his indexes). It didn’t have to be eloquent, it just had to look official. He found a proper looking signature and was just about to hit send when-

“What are you doing?” a young woman asked, this must be Arwen.

Bilbo panicked, “Sending an email.”

“That’s a private machine!” Arwen said, marching up to him to hand him over to her insane boss, “That’s a massive security violation, how did you even get past the password?”

Before she could say anything else he ducked under the desk and started running. She took up chase and that was how he came to be running down the street. He could hear her scream in frustration from a hundred yards away. It wasn’t fury, it was sadness. He had stolen something from her.

He prayed she wouldn’t lose her job.

*             *             *             *             *

Bilbo’s heart was still racing. He would pretend it was the adrenaline, but he hadn’t run that much since … ever. Wow. He needed to get to the gym. He slowed down his run and flattened out his suit. The closest place was a little place called the Prancing Pony. It seemed hospitable enough to wait for a phone call. He pulled out his phone and typed,

                   **Thorin! Call me when you get this, please!**

Bilbo hit send and went into the Prancing Pony for a drink.


	27. Yippee Ki Yay Mr. Falcon

From deep within the lonely jailhouse for the quiet lakeside town, a song hovered on the air.

            “ _Far over the misty mountains cold,  
            To dungeons deep and caverns old_ ” 

The words meant little to anyone, except for this man, to whom they meant everything. He had grown from a boy to a man on these words, a promise: his birthright. He waited many years to get here. This was just another setback, he would not let it stop him.

Thorin, son of Thrain, leader of the long defunct Oaken Shield Corporation, was long over-due for a comeback. That’s what people want, right? Everyone loves a comeback story. People love the scrappy underdog facing insurmountable odds, a heroic triumph over adversity: Rocky Balboa, Rambo, John McClane.

What a crock of shit. People don’t like comebacks. People like downfalls. The only thing they like better than a downfall was kicking you when you’re down.  

               “ _The pines were roaring on the height,  
               The winds were moaning in the night_ ”

All those years he brought industry and prosperity to this town, he was King. Who was there for him now?

Thorin looked around. He saw no one.

             “ _The fire was red, it flaming spread,  
             The trees like torches blazed with light_ …”

_*             *             *             *             *_

There was someone for him, the guard announced with little flourish that he had a visitor. Thorin suspected it was someone from Thranduil’s legal team to bury him in paperwork, but he was happily surprised at who actually showed up.

“I count only one of you,” Gandalf noted, “Have you lost your hacker?”

 “He's been lost ever since he left his home,” Thorin grumbled, “He should not have come- he has no place here.”

“He agreed to help you,” Gandalf said, “Can you turn down a friend at a time like this?”

“Where is he, then?” Thorin said.

“Not in jail, which is a lot more than I can say about you,” Gandalf said, “Did you talk to Thranduil?”

“Yes,” Thorin said.

“Did he offer you a deal?” Gandalf asked.

“Yes,” Thorin said, “I told him to eat a bag of dicks.”

“Well that’s it then,” Gandalf sighed, “A deal was your only hope.”

“Not my _only_ hope,” Thorin said.

_*             *             *             *             *_

Not long after that that the guards came to move Thorin. He couldn’t get much out of them to determine what was going on, but he caught on soon enough when they handed him a bag full of his belongings.

“You’re free to go,” the man said. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound disappointed. He sounded ambivalent, as though he would be just as happy to punch Thorin in the throat as to let him walk out the door. Thorin learned from previous mistakes and said nothing.

When he turned on his cell phone he saw that he had a message.


	28. We've Got Company!

Bilbo was waiting for him, he should go. Thorin had no idea how to get to the Prancing Pony, he’d probably walk the length of the town twice before he found the place. He was just about to call a taxi when he saw Gandalf on the street outside waiting for him.

Thorin smiled and said, “Where did you go, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead,” Gandalf said.

Thorin nodded and asked, “And what brought you back?”

“Looking behind,” Gandalf said. That was when Gandalf pulled on the leashes from around the corner and Thorin saw the large panting mass of dogs Gandalf brought with him. Gandalf smiled and said, “I thought you could use a little company.”

“My boys!” Thorin said, dropping to his knees. He was overtaken by the small fluffy troop, especially the puppies who were so eager to sit in his lap, “Fili! Kili! Wee lads! I missed you! I missed all of you!”

“I think they missed you too,” Gandalf said.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” Thorin said, looking up from the wild bunch that made up his family, “Thank you for everything.”

*             *             *             *             *

Bilbo nursed a large pint of amber ale surrounded by the happy haze of the Prancing Pony. He hadn’t heard from Thorin, but he also didn’t see any police officers coming in the bar to arrest him so he considered that victory enough for the moment. When he did see a familiar face walk through the front door it wasn’t Thorin at all.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo said, walking up and embracing him, “You came!”

“Of course I came,” Gandalf said, “I wouldn’t leave you. Never think that.”

“Where’s Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

“Finding lodgings for the rest of the company,” Gandalf said. Bilbo looked confused and Gandalf continued, “I brought his dogs with me. Thorin values those who are loyal to him- I think you’ve learned that about him by now.”

“I don’t think he values me much at all,” Bilbo said, “Not that I blame him. I would have doubted me too. I'm not a hero, or a warrior … Not even a hacker.”

Gandalf laughed a little but said nothing.

 “You never told me, you know,” Bilbo smiled, “Why you chose **_me_** , I mean.”

“Some believe that only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found,” Gandalf smiled, “I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay... small acts of kindness and love.”

That was when Thorin came crashing in the door.

”You!” Thorin said, bearing down on Bilbo with fury in his eyes, “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself arrested, for crimes even worse than mine! Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you would not survive in the wild and that you have no place amongst us?”

Bilbo waited to be berated. He waited to be dismissed. There was no inadequacy that Thorin could accuse him of that Bilbo did not already harbor in his heart. Bilbo didn’t want to fight. He wasn’t angry, he was just sad to have disappointed his friend.

“I've never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin said, embracing Bilbo. Bilbo felt a wall between them fall to the wayside and a bond between them grow in its place. He had never felt closer to anyone, and doubted he ever would.

Gandalf did not try to break them apart, he just ordered another round of drinks.


	29. Lady Marmalade

Ever since Bard showed up everything that Glorfindel _thought_ he knew about Thranduil was called into question. Was Thranduil seeing people? Could he be engaging in some sort of rendezvous right now-at his desk? No, not possible, it was too undignified. Besides, the doors had been closed for less than 15 minutes. _Was that quick enough for a quicky?_ _What was going on in this place?!_

Before Glorfindel could start imagining what might be happening behind closed doors the door in question opened. Bard stepped out (much too composed and much too somber to have anything flirtatious on the mind, Glorfindel noted approvingly) and locked eyes with Glorfindel, who realized he must be staring and so he looked away. Bard blushed.

Bard walked away hurriedly and the moment was nearly over when Thranduil called out from the door of his office, “Wait, Bard, come back- you've forgotten something.”

Bard walked back to the door and said, “Uh, yes?”

Thranduil placed his hand against Bard’s cheek and kissed him, not a platonic gesture between friends but a familiar and intimate kiss between those who have kissed many times before. Bard for his part seemed completely unphased. He looked up at him afterward with a small smile.

“Anything else?” Bard asked.

“No, that’s it,” Thranduil said, "Thanks for coming in on such short notice, call me later, okay?"

“Absolutely,” Bard said. Then he turned to face Glorfindel and raised his water bottle to say, “ _Merci beaucoup_.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to blush and he sank into his chair where he hoped to escape notice for the rest of eternity. Bard smiled and walked jauntily out of the lobby, Thranduil closed his door without another word.

Across from him in her own little desk Arwen smirked.

*             *             *             *             *

The day continued and Thranduil didn’t come out of his office, even during lunch. Needless to say he wasn’t taking any calls, and Arwen didn’t know what to do. _Should she order him something? Was he sick? Was he sulking?_

She tapped on his door but he didn’t respond and against all his repeated warnings in the past she entered without his verbal permission. She expected to be yelled out of the room but he didn’t even register her entrance. Thranduil was sitting at his desk with his headphones on, watching a video recording of an old Oaken Shield press release. He took notes on his iPad and his brow was pinched together as though he had a headache. Arwen stood in the doorway and cleared her throat loudly.

“Yes,” Thranduil said.

“Did you have lunch, sir?” Arwen asked.

“I’m fine,” Thranduil said. He did not turn to look at her, he did not pause the video.

“Is there,” Arwen bit her lip, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Go home Arwen,” Thranduil sighed.

“Sir?” Arwen said. She was afraid, remembering the security breach from earlier and wondering if she would ever be called back in again.

Thranduil paused the video and removed his headphones. He leaned forward with his head cradled in his hands, “You’ve had a rough day. Go home, sleep it off, come back tomorrow.”

“What about you?” Arwen asked.

“I’m going to stay,” Thranduil said.

“And Glorfindel?” Arwen asked.

“Who?” Thranduil asked. He reinserted his headphones and resumed his video.


	30. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

Legolas came home to an empty house. This wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary: Legolas was coming home earlier these days since he was suspended from after school activities, so his father wouldn’t necessarily be home to greet him. And there were nights when his father would be out until late at night entertaining investors in town, or working on projects so late that he slept on the couch in his office. Still, he always left Legolas a note.

Legolas remembered the note from last night, still tucked in Legolas’s bedside drawer. His father had acted so strangely, would he explain tonight? Were the nights when Thranduil bothered to explain his behavior past?

Tauriel rubbed against his legs. He picked her up and she purred loudly, “At least someone is happy to see me.”

Legolas turned on the news and waited for his father. They had a lot to talk about.

*             *             *             *             *

Normally Legolas and his father watched the news together. The 6pm cycle played when Legolas came home from practice while his dad made dinner, and the 10pm cycle played when Legolas finished his homework and checked in with his father before bed. Legolas would shut his textbooks and turn off his light and find his father in the dark living room lit only by the blue ambiance of the weather report, Thranduil clicking away on his phone and sipping on sangria.

But tonight the 6pm cycle ended and his father still wasn’t home. Legolas finished his homework on the sofa while he waited for his father but the 10pm cycle finished without any word from him. Legolas was drifting to sleep on the sofa when he heard it: a scraping at the door, a jingling of keys, followed by a series of bangs on the door.

When Legolas opened the door he saw his father carrying a pair of Chinese Take Out containers on his arms. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark outside and he looked very tired.

Legolas scowled and walked away.

“Legolas, I’m sorry,” Thranduil said. He tossed his keys on the counter and missed. They clattered loudly to the floor and Tauriel skittered away, “I’m so sorry, I meant to call.”

“Where have you been?” Legolas asked.

“I haven’t left my desk since 10am,” Thranduil said, unloading the takeaway and leaving them on the counter so he could shrug out of his coat, “I lost track of time.”

Thranduil hung his coat up and leaned his head against the wall. Legolas was glaring at him.

“Could you please not look at me like that, I already feel like shit,” Thranduil said, his brow furrowed behind dark lenses. His skin was pale and lit by a sheen of sweat.

“What are you hiding from me?” Legolas said.

“What are you talking about?” Thranduil shook his head, “I told you where I was.”

“You go out in the evening and you won’t tell me where you went,” Legolas said, “Now you stay out past 11 and you don’t even call.”

“Legolas, please,” Thranduil said, he took off his sunglasses and his eyes were red. He flinched from the low lighting in the room around him and he massaged his temples as he spoke, “You know I would never, I never meant to …”

“Ada, what’s wrong?” Legolas said, abandoning his anger as he rushed to his father’s side, he pressed the back of his hand to his head, “Ada, you aren’t well.”

Thranduil slumped down from the wall to the ground and put his sunglasses back on, hanging his head between his knees. His voice was a low rumble, as it often did when he grew tired, “Sleepless malice.”

“What are you saying?” Legolas said, shaking his father’s shoulder, but his father only winced and shrank away from the noise, “Ada, please, get up, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m sorry, Legolas,” Thranduil said, “Should have called.”

*             *             *             *             *

Legolas dragged Thranduil to bed and made him take some Asprin with a large glass of water. Thranduil ordered Legolas’s favorite takeaway on the way home as an apology, but his stomach was not up to Chinese food- the smell alone was enough to send him into dry heaves. Legolas held back his hair as he shuddered over a trash bin at the side of the bed, but he hadn’t eaten anything to bring back up, and so his retching merely left him feeling wretched.

He watched the red flashing lights on his bedside clock tick away the hours, but he was unable to sleep. He thought that he saw Legolas at his door but that might have been a dream. Tauriel was there. She rested on his chest and her purring resounded loudly in his ears, he was too tired to push her away, and maybe somewhere deep in his heart he found it a little comforting.

In the early hours of the morning he dreamed that Galadriel visited him; he must have been asleep. It seemed more like a dream than a reality. She called out to him but he was unable to answer. She turned on the light and he groaned and tried to turn away, but even when he closed his eyes the light crashed in against his senses like daggers.

“ _Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!_ ” he said, shoving the backs of his hands into his eyes. He saw stars.

“What was that?” Galadriel asked. She asked Legolas a question but Legolas should be in bed.

“Little leaf should be sleeping,” Thranduil said, even as he spoke the words they sounded wrong. Everything was wrong. The light was too bright and no one made any sense, and Galadriel was here. Why was Galadriel here?

Galadriel frowned and turned out the light. He sighed with relief. She laid a cool cloth upon his brow and whispered something in his ear. Soon all was dark and quiet.


	31. Post Mortem

“You’re awake,” a serene voice by his bedside said.

“You’re saying obvious things,” Thranduil groaned.

“And you’re sounding more like yourself,” Galadriel smiled, “Legolas was worried about you.”

“Did he call you?” Thranduil said. He sheltered his eyes under the crook of his arm and was hesitant to see how his eyes would fare against the morning rays. His voice sounded like a forgotten grated thing.

“Of course,” Galadriel said, “And so I came.”

Thranduil bit his lip, considering, “I thought you were a dream.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, you weren’t making a lot of sense last night,” Galadriel said, “Have you had migraines before?”

“I’ve had headaches before,” Thranduil said, “This was new.”

“Walk me through yesterday,” Galadriel said, “Describe what you were doing and when you first started noticing symptoms.”

Thranduil took down his arm. The room was bright and hazy and warm, but the light was only light. The pain danced away from his eyes and into the tight muscles along his back and neck. He felt like someone put him through the wringer, but he still felt a million times better.

He sat up and Galadriel passed him a glass of water. He knew he could talk now, even if he didn’t want to.

“Morning started well, nothing felt out of place,” Thranduil began, “In the morning there was a disturbance at work.”

“What kind of disturbance?” Galadriel asked.

“Does it matter?” Thranduil said.

“It matters if you mentioned it,” Galadriel said.

“It was a call from the police,” Thranduil said quickly, “Thorin trespassed on my land and they called me to see if it could be resolved without pressing charges. The conversation turned into a screaming match and I broke my phone against the ground. Around that time I noticed a hand tremor and a ringing in my ears.”

Galadriel sat stunned for a moment and said, “Go on.”

“Then there was a break in,” Thranduil said, “Someone logged into our computers and forged my signature to request that the police drop the charges. Before I could call the police to report the incident Thorin was already released. I called a friend to discuss our options.”

“What options?” Galadriel asked.

“How to take down Thorin, obviously,” Thranduil said, arching his brow.

“Does he present that much of a threat to you?” Galadriel asked.

“He broke into my office, he broke into my computers,” Thranduil said, his voice rising, “Do I need to remind you what he is capable of?!”

“Do you need a minute?” Galadriel said, serene as always.

Thranduil glared and drank some more water. He got about half the glass down before he continued.

“He’s going to try and reach out for public support,” Thranduil said, “He’s going to count on people to have forgotten what happened before, he will appeal to the same entrepreneurial zeal that got him that contract in the first place. I will not let them forget. I **_don’t_** forget.”

“Did you eat lunch?” Galadriel asked.

“I locked my door and devoted my day to studying the reports and the coverage of the accident,” Thranduil said, “I read what the insurance companies released, I read testimonials left by the families, I read the police case files. Over the next several hours I developed a headache, and then nausea. The ringing started to fade though.”

“Thranduil,” Galadriel said quietly, “You know what the case files say.”

“I catalogued Thorin’s speeches and dissected his mannerisms and ticks,” Thranduil said, “I listened to every word he had to say on the subject of the accident. I kept waiting for a public apology, but there wasn’t one.”

“He didn’t kill those people,” Galadriel said.

“47 people buried alive, 12 who suffered catastrophic injuries and died within 24 hours, and 16 more who survived and currently report crippling lung damage and other difficulties,” Thranduil said, “Widows! Orphans! Lifetimes to be spent in pain! Who did it, Galadriel?! Who answers to them! Tell me!”

“We’ve been over this, it was an accident,” Galadriel said, “The same thing would have happened if you were running that jobsite.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Thranduil said, “Because I would never have drilled into that god forsaken mountain!”

“Perhaps we should let this lie for now,” Galadriel said.

Thranduil ignored her, “I catalogued his speeches. All of them. Every single one. I listened to every word he had to say on the subject. By the time I was done it was dark, and very late. My head was throbbing, and started to feel vertigo when I stood up to leave. I picked up Chinese food on the way home, but by then I was in no shape to eat. Legolas probably filled you in on the rest.”

“Are you all right, Ada?” Legolas asked from the doorway. Thranduil turned to look at his son. The fire burning within Thranduil flickered and was replaced with a shaking apprehension, a father’s concern.

“He’ll be fine,” Galadriel said, standing and gathering her things, “Tension headache compounded with hunger and stress that turned into a migraine. The worst of it seems to have passed.”

“What if it comes back?” Legolas asked.

Galadriel smiled and hugged him hard, “You can always call me, always. Make sure he eats something.”

“Goodbye Galadriel,” Thranduil said. He paused and then he added, “Thank you.”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll send you my bill,” Galadriel said, and she left without another word.

“She’ll never come back now you know,” Legolas said, watching her go, “She thinks you hate her.”

“I do,” Thranduil said.

“No you don’t,” Legolas said. He kneeled down to face his father, “Can I get you anything: ginger ale, lembas?”

“Did you sleep at all last night, Legolas?” Thranduil asked. He thought back on his son’s silhouette in the corner of his aching memories, and how he had called on Galadriel when he no longer knew what to do. That was not Legolas’s responsibility, these were not his burdens.

“I slept enough,” Legolas said.

“Go to sleep, Little Leaf,” Thranduil said, patting him on the shoulder, “That is all I need from you.”

Wearily Legolas rose and went to his bedroom. Tauriel was at his heels.  


	32. New Territory

Thranduil made some calls. He called Arwen to let her know he wouldn't make it in today. He told her to reschedule any important appointments for the following week, and to cancel the rest- after that she should just go home and enjoy the weekend. Then he called the school to let them know Legolas would be taking a sick day; when they asked him why he assured them that Legolas was _very contagious_ and that they could call his doctor, Galadriel, to confirm. 

There were a lot of messages and emails to attend to, most of which did not interest him whatsoever. However, there were a couple from Bard which proved very interesting indeed. Thranduil listened:

**5:05pm:**

_Hey Thranduil, in case you weren’t joking I just thought I’d call. It was nice seeing you today. I was wondering if you had any ideas for Saturday?_

Thranduil smiled as he listened to the message again and again. There was a rustling in the background and Thranduil imagined that when Bard made this call he had his windows down as he drove through town. _He called as soon as he got off work!_ Thranduil smiled and played the next message:

**9:36pm:**

_Hey, was I not supposed to call? I don’t know how this works. Is there a three day rule on calling? Sigrid said that no one calls anymore, they just text, but I like talking to you. Now I called you twice, I’m really bad at this. Anyway, if I haven’t completely chased you away, call me. Okay, bye._

Bard’s voice had been hushed and intimate- perhaps his kids were in the next room. Bard’s daughter sounded hilarious and Thranduil could not imagine Bard asking for advice on ‘call-back etiquette’ without bursting into laughter. He had to meet her.

Thranduil decided to honor the gesture by returning with a phone call instead of a text, though he had to admit it felt strange not to text. Bard picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Bard asked.

“Hi,” Thranduil said. He tried for sexy, but it ended up coming out as a croak.

“You sound terrible, is something wrong?” Bard asked.

“I had a rough night, sorry I didn’t call,” Thranduil said.

“Sorry you didn’t call? I don’t care about that, are you okay?” Bard asked.

“Much better now,” Thranduil said, still croaking but smiling even if Bard couldn’t see it.

“Do you want me to come over?” Bard asked.

“Please, don’t bother, I’m fine,” Thranduil said, sinking back into bed.

“I already dropped the kids off at school and I have bagels,” Bard said.

“That is the single sexiest thing you have ever said,” Thranduil said.

“I’ll be right over,” Bard said.

*             *             *             *             *

When Thranduil opened the door Bard was struck by how rumpled and pale he looked. Perhaps it was just the contrast to his usual regal composure, but the dark circles under his eyes and the tired flopping posture looked positively ghastly on him.

“You look like you've been hit by a truck,” Bard said.

Thranduil, far from offended, smiled, “Then I look how I feel.”

“I brought rations,” Bard held up the bag.

“Bless you,” Thranduil said. He grabbed the bag and walked into the kitchen. Bard closed the door behind him and followed.

It was a quiet breakfast. Bard tried to get Thranduil to talk about what happened last night, but Thranduil only alluded to having a headache and he insisted that he was ‘totally recovered.’ Bard thought that it must have been a hell of a headache because he didn’t look like he slept a wink that night. He insisted that Thranduil take a second bagel at the very least. Thranduil glared and cut the bagel in half, handing the other half to Bard.

Thranduil cleared his plate and set it in the sink for later. He stretched and said, “I'm going to take a shower." 

Bard stood, "Right then, I should be going."

Thranduil wouldn't have it, "Nonsense, keep me company, you could use a shave anyway."

Bard raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure?"

Thranduil pressed close to Bard and slipped his hands under his shirt, smiling at the way Bard shivered. Thranduil leaned in close to whisper, " _Oh Bard, it's nothing you haven't seen before_."

"Excuse me?" Bard asked.

" _Peeping Tom_ ," Thranduil whispered.

" _Exhibitionist_ ," Bard whispered back.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Thranduil shrugged.

Then with a single arm Thranduil lifted his shirt over his head and began unbuttoning his pants. He kept stripping on his way to the bathroom. Bard trailed behind him and tossed all of the clothes into the hamper next to the wardrobe. He couldn't help himself; he followed Thranduil through the open bathroom door as though he were in a dream. The shower was already on and Thranduil braided his hair to keep it off his neck.

"Feel free to use anything you need," Thranduil said, gesturing to the sink, "There are fresh razors in the cabinet."

Bard turned to investigate and, true to his word, there was a pack of fresh razors waiting. Bard washed his face and set about lathering his chin. Behind him Thranduil was humming.

"So what was that about, yesterday?" Bard asked.

"Excuse me?" Thranduil asked, he peaked out from behind the curtain to see Bard at the sink with a face covered in a white Santa Style shaving foam beard.

"The PDA in front of your mortified interns," Bard said, even as he said it he was unable to stifle a laugh, “I thought the blond one was going to have a stroke.”

"Oh, that!" Thranduil laughed, "Sorry, I get a little territorial sometimes."

"Territorial?" Bard asked.

"I saw them sneaking glances at you- trying to figure out why you were there," Thranduil said, "I wanted to leave no doubt."

"You're ridiculous," Bard blushed.

"And you're adorable," Thranduil said.

As Thranduil lathered Bard noticed how the steamy room filled with a wonderful scent.

"What is that?" Bard asked.

"Almond oil," Thranduil said, taking the shower head off the wall to rinse off, "You really ought to moisturize more- it will change your life. Of course I'm a total aromatherapy addict so if you hang around me long enough I'll end up rubbing off on you anyway."

"That's fine with me," Bard laughed.

Bard turned back to the mirror and shaved away the three day growth obscuring his face. Soon Thranduil grabbed a robe and joined him, using the adjacent sink as he brushed his teeth and combed his hair out of its braid.

Thranduil brought his attention to Bard again he smiled and said, "Oh yes, much better."

"Me?" Bard asked.

"Who else?" Thranduil asked, he reached across to graze his hand gingerly across Bard's cheek, "You clean up nice."

“Not so bad yourself,” Bard said. He drew comfort from the revitalization a little food and a quick shower could bring. Thranduil looked much more at peace, much more like the man Bard admired.

Bard waited in the bedroom while Thranduil shaved and did something to his eyebrows, but soon he turned to Bard and asked for some clothes, "Hand me the black shirt. No, not that black shirt, the other one. Not that one, the other one."

"These all look exactly the same to me," Bard said.

"They happen to be entirely different," Thranduil said, "Ah yes, this one. Feel the fabric on it. Lovely. Thank you."

Tauriel brushed against Bard’s heels while he sat on the bed. She seemed hesitant to climb on the bed itself. He reached down to scratch the bottom of her chin and she wrapped around him like a silk scarf. Bard smiled, “You know, I never took you for a cat person.”

“Trust me, I'm not,” Thranduil rolled his eyes, “But Legolas is very fond of her.”

When Thranduil was refreshed and dressed he walked into the bedroom to join Bard and Bard pulled him down into the bed. Thranduil giggled and said, “I’m not sure I’m up to this right now.”

“Just lay down with me a few minutes,” Bard said, “You look exhausted.”

“Okay, but you aren’t allowed to fall asleep. Legolas is sleeping in the other room and if he were to wake up and find you here,” Thranduil warned.

“What?” Bard asked, smiling.

“It would be bad!” Thranduil said, “We agreed we weren’t bringing in the kids yet! We both agreed!”

“ _Shhhhhh_ ,” Bard said, “I know, I promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Bard relaxed his hold on Thranduil and Thranduil lay against him. Thranduil found a place in his arms that fit as though they were made for him, one long arm draped all the way over Thranduil’s shoulders that he held close to his own beating heart. Thranduil practically purred.

“I’m not usually the little spoon,” Thranduil said softly.

“Go to sleep, little spoon,” Bard whispered. Thranduil pinched him but already his breathing was slowing, his limbs loosened, his weight collapsing into the mattress and into Bard. Soon he was sleeping. Bard would let him sleep like that for twenty minutes, long enough to settle into a deep sleep, then he would slip out and leave Thranduil to his dreams.


	33. No Turning Back

Legolas knew when he woke up that something was amiss. Of course, it was nearly noon and his body wasn’t used to midday naps, plus he hadn’t had a proper meal since last night. In addition, Tauriel, who normally slept at the foot of his bed, was missing, nowhere to be seen. But it wasn't just that ... there was something else- Legolas _sensed something_.

Legolas got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. He was disappointed that his father wasn’t there, but there were dishes in the sink so perhaps he did manage to eat something after all. Legolas brewed green tea and decided to make an extra cup for his father to surprise him. It might be just the pick-me-up he needed this morning to get out of bed. Legolas would just leave it on the bedside table in case his father wanted it.

Legolas opened the bedroom door and …

*             *             *             *             *

“This explains so much,” Legolas said.

Thranduil blinked awake and realized with a shock of fright that Legolas was staring back at him with widened eyes. That was when Thranduil felt an arm wrapped around him (attached to the warm soft body of a man who -contrary to all his promises- had _definitely_ fallen asleep).

 ** _Oh Shit_**.

“LG?” Bard asked from behind Thranduil, sleep still in his voice.

“Hello Mr. Bowman,” Legolas smiled and sipped his tea from a steaming mug.

“Uh,” Bard recoiled, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“He isn’t _five,_ Bard,” Thranduil sighed, he grabbed Bard's arm to hold him still, “Legolas, this is exactly what it looks like.”

“I know,” Legolas said, “I made you a tea. Would you like one, Mr. Bowman?”

“Uh,” Bard said. He was entirely unable to process the boy's matter-of-fact tone and impromptu hospitality.

“Better make that a coffee,” Thranduil said, patting Bard’s hand to let him know that everything was all right, “Go ahead and make it two.”

*             *             *             *             *

In the kitchen Legolas ran water from the taps and poured grinds from carefully measured tablespoons into thin paper filters.

Legolas, Bard thought miserably, the boy who taught Bard’s children soccer and cheered them on at games. Legolas had just discovered Bard in bed with his father. Was there a worse way possible to introduce your dad’s new boyfriend? Bard shuddered, sitting on the edge of the bed feeling guilty, horrified, and completely at a loss for what to do next. Thranduil sat next to him in bed. Thranduil had never let go of Bard’s hand and Bard had no idea what he would do if he did.

“ _It’s just a little earlier than we planned_ ,” Thranduil whispered, “ _This doesn’t change how I feel, has it changed things for you?_ ”

“ _Of course not_ ,” Bard whispered back, “ _I’m just scared I’ve bungled things_.”

“ _Don’t be silly, Legolas likes you_ ,” Thranduil smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “ _Come on then, let’s not leave him waiting_.”

*             *             *             *             *

Legolas set the table: he poured coffee, he laid out cream and sugar, and he set out saucers and nibbles. Legolas was prepared. Things were changing around here, and Legolas would not let that pass without some explanations about what the hell was going on.

Thranduil came out of the room first, dragging a reluctant Bard by the hand. Legolas stood by the table and nodded at them. Tauriel sat by his heels and likewise observed the proceedings with an inscrutable air. At first they were silent as each of them found a seat: Thranduil and Legolas at their usual places, and Bard removed a stack of magazines from a long ignored matching chair next to Thranduil.  

Legolas decided to make the first move, “You’re feeling better, Ada?”

“Much better, thank you Legolas,” Thranduil said. He raised his coffee mug in a toast.  

Legolas nodded, then he turned to face Bard, “So, are you and my father in a relationship or are you just sleeping together?”

Bard spat a mouthful of coffee back in his mug and coughed uncontrollably into his napkin as tears burned his eyes.

 _"Legolas!"_ Thranduil shot daggers with his eyes, “That was very rude!”

“I deserve to know,” Legolas said, “And you don’t tell me these things anymore.”

“I was going to tell you,” Thranduil rose to help Bard clean up the mess. He sopped up the coffee with his own napkin then set it aside, and patted Bard on the back until his coughing died away, “We were going to tell you. It was just-”

“Terrible timing,” Bard said, turning to reassure Thranduil with his eyes that he could sit down. Legolas watched as Thranduil returned to his seat, his father’s eyes never strayed from Bard.

“All of this happened so fast, things got out of hand before we knew what we were doing. I never wanted for you to find out this way,” Thranduil said, “But I promise, I was going to tell you. Soon.”

“You’ve never kept secrets from me before,” Legolas said. The words hurt his throat, “Never.”

If saying those words hurt, the silence that followed hurt more. Thranduil stared at his son and his mind filled with a thousand excuses and reassurances and apologies to console him, but none of them managed to make their way to his lips. Legolas heard them all anyway, and he looked down at his hands without saying anything in response.

“It’s different when you have children,” Bard said. Legolas and Thranduil both looked up at him to listen, “When you are alone you have no one else to hurt. When you have kids the child is always the first person in your heart, and you have to protect them from heartbreak more than you do yourself. You only introduce a child to someone you love when you are sure you love them, and when you know that person will love your child as much as you do.”

“Do you?” Legolas asked. He wasn’t asking Bard.  

Thranduil hid his face in his hands. After a silence that felt like years Thranduil took a shaking breath and said, “Yes.”

In all their years together as a family that Legolas could remember, Legolas never heard his father say that he loved anyone except for him. Legolas wondered if there was room in their lives for another person after all this time. He had to ask.

“And you?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” Bard said.

Next to Bard, Thranduil erupted into sudden jags of tear-filled laughter. Bard smiled and put his hand on Thranduil’s knee. Thranduil leaned on Bard’s shoulder until he calmed down enough to breathe again. Legolas could hear Thranduil whispering to Bard, ‘ _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ ’ and Bard was shushing him with a soothing whisper, saying, ‘ _I know, I know_.’

Legolas stood to hug his father. Thranduil rose immediately and embraced his son in a way that they had not done in years; all at once Legolas felt like a much younger son and also more like a peer to his father. Clearly things were changing for both of them, no turning back now.

Parting, Legolas stretched out his hand to Bard, “I’m sorry about earlier, truly.”

“There’s nothing to forgive: you’re a good kid, Legolas,” Bard said. Behind Legolas, Thranduil was beaming.


	34. Et tu, Brute?

Galadriel had a rough night.

Legolas called in a panic after 1am because his father, Thranduil, was having some sort of episode. Galadriel could tell that Legolas needed reinforcements: he couldn’t handle this alone. Galadriel dressed and drove across town, cursing Thranduil under her breath as she waited at empty red lights. She would bet every Armani pantsuit she owned that alcohol was to blame for this disturbance.

When she arrived at the apartment the door was unlocked and she stepped in without having to knock or ring the bell. Everything was dark and quiet and tense. Legolas waited by the doorway to Thranduil’s room. Legolas whispered to her about how Thranduil arrived home late that night and deteriorated rapidly: sweating, shaking, retching, and hiding from light and sound.

“ _I don’t think he can sleep_ ,” Legolas whispered, “ _I don’t know what to do_.”

Galadriel nodded and went into the room. It was as dark as the rest of the apartment so she turned on the light, which elicited a string of panicked nonsense from the prone figure lying in the bed. Galadriel ran a preliminary medical exam. She hummed a soothing song while she shined a pocket light through his eyes. Thranduil protested weakly.

Galadriel left to find a 24 hour pharmacy, where she found something that she hoped would ease the symptoms enough for the sleep medicine to do its job. After the drug was administered she watched Thranduil loosen and relax, and in the hours before dawn he finally fell asleep.

Galadriel spent those hours talking with Legolas. The boy was incapable of resting while this drama occurred. He sat at the foot of his father’s bed next to Galadriel, stroking Tauriel for comfort. 

“How is school Legolas?” Galadriel asked.

“Good,” Legolas said.

“Are those boys giving you any trouble?” Galadriel asked.

“No,” Legolas said.

“Is there something wrong?” Galadriel asked.

“Are you going to include this in your report?” Legolas asked.

“No,” Galadriel said, “Why would I?”

“Isn’t this what you call, ‘Trouble at home’,” Legolas said, using the phrase he feared would be brandied about in school counseling sessions and pressed on him as a label in psychological profiles and permanent records. Legolas didn’t want to implicate his father as unfit, but he hadn’t known who else to call. Now that Thranduil was doing better the original fear was pressing back in.

“Everyone gets ill from time to time, Legolas,” Galadriel said, “I would not consider this in your profile even if Thranduil called me because you were ill.”

“Right,” Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, “Sorry for waking you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Galadriel said.

Galadriel advised Legolas to sleep but she doubted that he did. Galadriel needed to stay until Thranduil awoke so that she could ask him questions to rule out more troubling medical conditions. She checked his breathing and his temperature periodically, and watched the sunrise through the bedroom window. It was so peaceful, she never had this much time for quiet and reflection.

Then of course Thranduil went and ruined that peace by waking up and being himself. She had to leave. Of course she had to go to work, but it also helped that she really couldn’t stand prolonged amounts of time with Thranduil while he was conscious.

Galadriel decided to go to the school and to drop off her completed case file on Elrond’s desk. She considered her job done, and she had to depart across the water soon. She would miss Legolas, but there were so many other people counting on her already that she felt as though she were being split in two every moment she delayed.

Just a quick consult, then the tie would be severed.

*             *             *             *             *

Elrond was used to being ignored. People might ask him for advice, but they always ignored it. He didn’t know why he even bothered anymore. Elrond was pretty sure that if he wanted to kill someone, all he would have to do is to remind them to breathe. As the father to a teenage girl he was used to people doing the opposite of what he directed, but when it came from friends it was harder to take.

Elrond stared over the paperwork that Galadriel presented to him. According to her Legolas’s violence was an isolated incident, and all that she advised was that he be kept away from the other students involved (easy enough, the students in question were being transferred to another school). There wasn’t even any psychological testing listed, it was just session notes. Elrond closed the folder and he called Galadriel into his office.

*             *             *             *             *

Elrond viewed Galadriel as a regal and unflappable woman, but this morning she was clinging to her coffee like it was a walking stick on a treacherous pass. Still, her posture was impeccable and nothing else in her appearance betrayed her. Elrond invited her into his office and he looked over the file with her.

“Your notes were … brief,” Elrond said, “You don’t seem concerned at all.”

“My concerns are different than yours,” Galadriel said, “And my faith in the boy is greater.”

“So that’s it, then,” Elrond said, closing the folder, “You have nothing else to say on this case?”

“You must do what you feel is necessary, but my time in this town has ended,” Galadriel said.

“The city calls you home?” Elrond asked.

“I think I’m quite ready,” Galadriel said. She clipped her bag closed and pulled out her phone to confirm her next appointment. She was almost out the door when Elrond called out to her:

“And you’re not worried about the Mountain?” Elrond said.

“Not you too,” Galadriel stopped in her tracks and grimaced with dread.

“Me too?” Elrond asked.

“Thranduil is worried sick about it,” Galadriel said, “Thorin is back in town, what of it?”

“For years we have lived in peace - a hard-won, watchful peace,” Elrond said, “We cannot let that crumble now, not now that this town is only now beginning to rebuild.”

“There will be no outsider who can revoke Thorin’s hold,” Galadriel said, “So it is with the men who stayed that we must place our hope.”

“Men? Men are weak,” Elrond said, “You haven’t seen the people in this place fade away, pride and dignity forgotten. I was there, Galadriel. I was there the day they let Thorin walk away. I was there the day the strength of Men failed.”

“What danger does he pose now?” Galadriel said.

“Have you forgotten? There is a sickness in him that cost everyone dearly,” Elrond said, “If he tries to retake his mantel can you swear Thorin will not also succumb to the same sickness again?”

“You would have me predict the future then?” Galadriel said angrily, “These decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to decide the fate of this town.”

“I may not have to right to decide the fate of this town,” Elrond said, “But I would stay and fight for it, until the very end.”

Galadriel said nothing, she was already gone.


	35. The Invention of Golf

Bilbo and Gandalf spent the afternoon walking through the city. Gandalf had been to the town many years before and so he led the way. Gandalf wanted to visit an old friend ( _someone with a warm hearth and pipe weed, if they were old friends of Gandalf’s_ , Bilbo thought). They had been walking through a park when a mighty wind blew through the avenues and diverted them from their path. Not to be dissuaded Gandalf found a different path and kept walking, but then it began to rain. They were stranded beneath a little awning for close to an hour, hardly able to hear each other speak through the noise of pounding rain against metal.

“Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?” Bilbo asked.

“It is raining, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done,” Gandalf bristled, “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another guide.”

“Right,” Bilbo said. He crossed his arms and waited without another word.

When the rain was done they continued on their way, trudging through cold puddles and fallen leaves, walking until they found the place that Gandalf remembered, but it wasn’t the place he remembered at all. Instead of a warm hearth and pipe weed, there was a green siren and bearded hipsters.  

“I’m guessing that this isn’t his house,” Bilbo said.

“I have no memory of this place,” Gandalf said, “What is it?”

“It’s a Starbucks, Gandalf,” Bilbo laughed, “They’re the same everywhere.”

“Well, we’re not getting any younger,” Gandalf said. Gandalf used his walking stick to press against the door. Then he pressed harder. Bilbo gestured for him to stand aside and then he pulled the door open.

“I suppose you think that was terribly clever,” Gandalf muttered. For the sake of his friend Bilbo tried not to smile too broadly, though it was a near thing.

*             *             *             *             *

“So did ye want that in a tall, grande, or venti?” the barista said. Many of the men in the coffee shop had beards, but this stout fellow had the most intricately braided beard of them all. His name badge read ‘Dain’ and his expression read, ‘ _Mean Mother Fucker_.’

“What did he say?” Gandalf asked, brow furrowed, “Does he mean to insult us?”

“No Gandalf, he's offering you food” Bilbo said. Admittedly the man’s accent was so Scottish that it was nearly a different language, but Bilbo spoke coffee and that was all that mattered.

“Very well then, Lead on!” Gandalf said.

Dain held up a hand to silence them and then he called out to a group of young kids on their MacBook’s. The kids looked up from their multiplayer war game and took off their headphones.

“Good morning. How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you don't mind giving me a few moments of your time,” Dain paused to collect himself and then continued in a much louder tone, “Would you consider... JUST SODDING OFF! All ye, right now!”

They closed their computers and jolted out of their seats without even closing their browsers.

“Little bastards will sit there all day if ye let them,” Dain said, “Hogging up the wifi and never ordering. I swear one day I’m going to split their little heads open, see if they’re still smirking then!”

Now Bilbo was properly alarmed, but Gandalf was smiling.

“So, was that a tall, grande, or venti?” Dain asked.

*             *             *             *             *

Gandalf and Bilbo sat watching the door while they drank their coffees. They meant to be relaxing, but Bilbo could not shake the impression that Gandalf was waiting for someone. He kept looking over Bilbo’s shoulder at the door.

“And that’s how the game of golf was invented,” Gandalf said.

“I do believe you made that up,” Bilbo said.

Gandalf laughed, “Well, all good stories deserve embellishment.”

The bell above the front entrance rang and Gandalf stopped laughing in an instant. A lady in all white stood in the doorway, shaking rain from her umbrella and tossing her long wavy hair behind her shoulder. Bilbo had no idea who she was but the instant she looked up it was clear that she and Gandalf knew each other.

“My lady,” Gandalf said, rising to meet her.

“Mithrandir,” she said. She stared deep into his eyes for several moments before smiling and embracing him tight. Gandalf smiled and held her close.

Bilbo sat awkwardly.


	36. Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Thranduil sent Legolas down to the dumpsters with the trash and then he went to the kitchen sink to start cleaning the dishes for the morning. Thranduil thought that he had left Bard to relax at the kitchen table, so he was surprised to find Bard lined up beside him at the sink. Bard didn't say a word, he just grabbed a dripping dish and wiped it dry with a clean rag. Thranduil was too tired to insist on his usual policy of 'guests staying out of the kitchen' so he nodded his assent. The pair of them continued on in this way for several minutes until they fell into a natural rhythm. It was as if they had been doing this for years. 

After a while Thranduil began to suspect that Legolas was not coming back from the dumpsters any time soon. Thranduil blushed when he realized that his son was probably intentionally "taking a walk around the block."

Thranduil turned off the faucet, “So ... are you going to tell your children, as well?” 

“Do you think that they should know?” Bard asked, "We could still wait, like we planned."

“Legolas is fond of them,” Thranduil sighed, “If he knows, they should know. To hell with plans, it’s time.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Bard said. Bard set down his rag and turned around to lean against the counter like a barstool. Thranduil mirrored him at his side, and their bodies met at their folded elbows. (Thranduil noted with a petty brand of pride that he was definitely at least a little bit taller than Bard).

“Do you want me to be there?” Thranduil asked.

Bard hesitated, “How do you feel about kids, younger kids?”

“I like them much better than adults,” Thranduil shrugged.

Bard laughed, “Really?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Thranduil smiled, “Kids are so much more upfront about their feelings. You can learn more from ten minutes of conversation with a ten year old than from ten years of conversation with a twenty year old. Enjoy them now, Bard. Soon they’ll be far ‘too cool’ to come running to dad with their troubles.”

Bard laughed and Thranduil arched an eyebrow, "What?"

“Nothing, it's just ... you surprise me,” Bard said, “Did you always want to be a dad?”

“We always wanted kids,” Thranduil said, “We always planned on having more, one day.”

There it was again: the scar from where the other half was torn away. Bard never guessed that to Thranduil his wife's absence included the rest of a family that never was: siblings for Legolas, family gatherings, perhaps a daughter who resembled her mother - a thousand lives that would never be, not anymore. Bard couldn't imagine how deep that mourning went. When Bard sat down with his family at the supper table there was an empty seat, when Thranduil sat down at his table how many empty chairs did he see?

Bard knew better than to offer some sentiment that would try to make what was seem better than what might have been. Instead of talking, Bard pulled Thranduil close, his heart quickening as Thranduil pressed into him, tight. Bard pulled Thranduil's hair away from his eyes and kissed him, a long steady draw. Long enough to say  ** _I’ll be there_** , long enough to say  ** _I’ll always be there_.**

“I’ll tell them tonight,” Bard said, pulling away just long enough to ask the question, “Do you have any plans?”

“Sounds like a date,” Thranduil smiled.

*             *             *             *             *

When Legolas got back to the apartment he went straight back to his room to change his clothes: he pulled on a tracksuit, a stopwatch, socks, and trainers. He might not be on the team right now, but he still needed to train if he wanted to reclaim his spot on the roster once this ordeal was over. He did some quick stretches and some floor exercises. He went back into the main room to tell his father and Bard goodbye, but his father was back in bed, and Bard was nowhere to be seen.

“ _Ada_ ,” Legolas said, “I’m going out.”

“Good, good,” Thranduil said from under his blankets, “Lock the door behind you.”

“Are you all right?” Legolas asked.

“Ngggggh,” Thranduil said.

Legolas would have asked what that meant, but the next thing he heard from under the blankets were the deep nasal draws of sleep. Legolas closed the door and locked it behind him, just as his father wished.


	37. I Dreamed a Dream of Days Gone By

Thranduil finds himself inside a large cavernous church. The vaulted ceilings are made from dark wooden planks and the roof resembles the belly of an upturned sailing vessel. Enormous stained glass windows line the walls with all fourteen stations of the cross. Thranduil ticks them off in his head one by one, saying the prayers under his breath without realizing what he was doing. His eyes catch on Mary - she seemed to suffer much than her son in these pictures, her eyes were burdened with a deeper sadness.

In the front of the lines of pews a casket waits: a man in a box, his life finished.

Down the center aisle a procession of weeping mourners passes to pay their last respects to his father. Thranduil is sitting in the pew where his family worshipped dutifully for so many years. Every Sunday he sat here with his father: their backs straight and their faces blank, side by side but not touching. Thranduil knows he should cry, he must seem like a heartless bastard nodding politely at the people walking back from his father’s casket. Instead he just bites his lip and waits for the service to be over.

This is a familiar memory, one that Thranduil knows by texture as much as sight: he can taste the old dust in the air, he can hear the wooden planks creaking in his seat, and he can feel the fabric of his suit as it brushes against his neck. Thranduil wore a black suit, and it fit him poorly. As a younger man this was his only suit. Thranduil wore this suit to his wedding, after today he would never wear it again.

This ceremony did not bring Thranduil peace: all he felt was silence, absence. If the spirit lives on after death, his father's spirit would not linger here.

Thranduil's mother walks in, a black veil obscures her face. 

 _Impossible,_ Thranduil thinks idly, _she had died first by more than two years._  

She sits down next to her son and they look up to the front of the church where his father lays. As usual, his father is silent.

"Back again?" his mother asked, "Are you missing your father?"

"I don't know how to miss him," Thranduil said.

"You were the most important person in your father's life,” his mother said, “He taught you everything he knew."

 _That means a lot, but it's not enough_ , Thranduil thinks, but he bites his tongue. Even after she'd been dead for nearly two decades, Thranduil still didn't want to say anything to upset her.

Thranduil remembered the way his father would inspect his homework every night and judge whether the effort was satisfactory. Thranduil remembered the long drives to factories in the north with his father, the entire trip served as one long lecture on best practices in business and management. Everything in their relationship was dictatorial, no matter how much time they spent together Thranduil never felt close.

The casket disappeared and so did his mother. Thranduil's father appeared sitting next to Thranduil, his brow stern and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing the same emerald tie that he wore the last time Thranduil saw him alive.

"I keep trying to think of happy memories between us," Thranduil said, "I can't think of a single one."

His father rolled his eyes and said, "You turned out okay."

Thranduil ignored him, "My son was born today."

Thranduil knew that the only reason he dreamt about this day so much was because it was the day that Legolas was born. Thranduil was summoned to return to his childhood home when his father died. His wife could not travel, but Thranduil’s duty as a son demanded that he should. He spent a long and fruitless weekend wrapping up affairs and consoling well-wishers, but it wasn’t until his wife called him from the hospital that he was truly broken.

This was the day he stopped being a son, and he started being a father.

"Ah, yes," His father said, "How did my grandson turn out?"

"Brave, kind, foolish," Thranduil said.

Thranduil's father crossed his arms, "Sounds like trouble, keep an eye on him."

“Legolas is a good kid,” Bard said from Thranduil’s left. It was the first time Bard had interrupted this dream but Thranduil wasn't complaining. Bard's voice tasted like a recently remembered kiss, “You should be proud of both of your boys.”

“And who is this?” Thranduil’s father asked.   

“Dad,” Thranduil sighed, holding Bard’s hand tight. Bard was smiling, and Thranduil smiled back, “The best part of you being dead is that we don’t have to have this conversation.”


	38. I Demand Satisfaction

Bard had to run to the bank to deposit checks for work, and on his way out he saw a familiar short profile walking down the street. The figure turned right to cross the street and Bard recognized that it was Thorin. Bard made the impulse decision to follow him- perhaps a larger confrontation could be prevented by voicing his concerns early.

By the time that Bard caught up to Thorin someone was already reading Thorin the riot act.

“You can’t run a dog-walking business without the proper permits,” Alfrid said, jabbing Thorin with a pencil and pointing at a clipboard, “Where’s your permit? You haven’t got one- you know how I know? I run the permit office, you haven’t got a permit.”

“These dogs are MINE!” Thorin said, slapping the clipboard away.

“Think you’re bein’ funny, do ya?” Alfrid said, “What kind of whackjob walks around with 12 dogs?”

“The kind of person who owns 12 dogs!” Thorin said loudly. All the little dogs turned on Alfrid now, growling and displaying their tiny sharp teeth.

Alfrid adjusted his belt and said, “I’d mind your dogs if I was you, I’m a licensed civil servant and I will not be intimidated.”

“Calm down, Alfrid,” Bard said, “I can vouch that these dogs belong to him, check the addresses on the collars.”

Thorin glared at Bard, but when Alfrid checked the collars (painstakingly, one by one) the logic checked out.

Alfrid turned and leaned down to face Thorin, and said, “I guess I can’t prove anything for now, but if there’s a civil infraction committed in this town, you’ll have ME to deal with! And you mind your meter, Bard, there’s only twelve minutes left and I’ve got my eye on you.”

Bard rolled his eyes and said, “I think there’s someone double-parked on Elm.”

“Not on my watch,” Alfrid said, pulling up the waist of his pants and walking away.

“Witless worm,” Thorin said, once Alfrid was safely out of earshot, “What did you want, Bowman?”

All the dogs turned on Bard, and he backed up a step, “I just wanted to talk.”

“About what?” Thorin asked, “Who sent you? Is Thranduil trying more tricks?”

“Thranduil has nothing to do with this,” Bard said, “Anything that concerns this town concerns me.”

“I’m here to take back what’s mine!” Thorin said.

“You have no right!” Bard said.

“I have the only right!” Thorin said.

"Did you send your people into the mountain!" Bard asked.

"What? No!" Thorin said, "I got arrested before I got anywhere close to the mountain, just ask the big blonde dandy!"

"There has been movement on the mountain,” Bard said, “Contractors, men taking samples!"

 "I don't even have the proper permits yet- how could I have possibly done that?" Thorin said, "Besides, you don't need take samples before you start digging a tunnel, you take samples when you're testing for ..."

"Testing for what?" Bard asked.

" _Mineral deposits_ ," Thorin said pausing, mulling over his words, "Like when you're testing the soil for coal."

"Who would be testing for coal?" Bard asked.

"Smaug," Thorin said.


	39. And then there's THIS asshole

“So, what are _you_ doing in town?” Galadriel asked.

“I’m here to see you, of course,” Gandalf said, swatting her elbow playfully.

“That would have been foolish of you,” Galadriel said, “I moved away years ago.”

“Yet here we are,” Gandalf smiled.

“Here we are,” Galadriel smiled back.

“So how do you two know each other, exactly?” Bilbo asked, so uncomfortable that he thought he might burst into flames. Instead of answering they both laughed, beaming at each other. Bilbo was pretty sure that they were bumping knees under the table.

“We facilitated trade between two disagreeable parties,” Galadriel said, “But in the end the two of us got along much better than the two of them ever did.”

“You still in touch with Thranduil?” Gandalf asked, “How is the old bastard?”

“Paranoid as ever, convinced that Thorin is up to something,” Galadriel laughed, but then she paused, “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“I am here only as a friend,” Gandalf said, “A guide, a collector of friends for the journey.”

Galadriel looked at Bilbo intensely, and Bilbo stuck up his chin proudly. He didn’t need to feel brave under pressure, he just had to fake it.

“Why would you align yourself with this quest?” Galadriel asked. Bilbo turned to look at Gandalf, for this was a question that he had never thought to ask.

“This quest is not my own, I have larger fears,” Gandalf said in a low enough voice that they all had to lean in to hear. Gandalf continued, “Thorin is not the only one with his eyes on the Mountain.”

“Smaug,” Galadriel nodded, “He has long been on your mind.”

“This is true, my lady,” Gandalf said, “Smaug owes his allegiance to no one. If he gets his hands on the Mountain the entire town would be lost.”

“Sm- Smaug?” Bilbo asked.

“A great coal mining giant from the north,” Gandalf said, “He’s drawn by great greed. He runs everyone out of town, and turns the countryside into a gaping crater collecting his hoard. He is fire and death.”

“He can’t do that,” Bilbo said, “He can’t, can he?”

“Not without permits,” Gandalf said, “The Mountain is protected from all construction following the accidents from the last building project, but the ban is being reconsidered.”

“Thorin would definitely be the lesser of two evils,” Galadriel said, “Do you honestly want him to try again?”

“I cannot let Smaug take the Mountain,” Gandalf said, “It cannot pass.”

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil woke when the sun was high in the sky. He breathed deeply and rolled over.

Then he saw that Tauriel was nestled in the crook of his arm.

“ _What Made You Think The Rules Had Changed?_ ” Thranduil said. He tossed her off the bed. She howled as loud as she could and sprinted away into Legolas’s room. Thranduil stretched for a moment and then followed her.

“Good workout?” Thranduil asked from Legolas’s doorway.

“Very good,” Legolas said. He was stroking an agitated Tauriel, she hissed at Thranduil. Legolas looked up at his father, “You are looking better.”

Thranduil paused for a minute and asked, “Did you want to visit the Bowman’s this evening?”

“Of course,” Legolas said.

“It might be … awkward,” Thranduil said, “Considering the intended dinner conversation.”

“ ’Meet your dad’s new boyfriend’?” Legolas asked.

“That’s the long and short of it,” Thranduil said. He tried to shrug it off but his cheeks blazed.

“I’ll be there, Ada,” Legolas said. He set aside Tauriel (who ran underneath the bed) and said, “Besides, I want to see the kids. Galadriel says I might be able to return to coaching soon.”

“They could not be in better hands,” Thranduil said.

“You’re worried,” Legolas said.

“Yes,” Thranduil said.

“I’m not,” Legolas said.

“Thanks,” Thranduil said.


	40. Meet the Parents

Bard greeted Thranduil and Legolas at the door, and in a hushed tone he said, “ _You ready?”_

“Let’s do this,” Thranduil said. Bard opened the door and stepped aside for his guests.

Thranduil was excited to see the place. He had glimpsed the apartment many times from the windows, but this was the first time he would be entering these doors with an invitation. The ceilings seemed higher, the tile floors clicked beneath their feet. The kitchen was open to the front entrance and Thranduil could smell potatoes cooking (possibly mashed, or in a stew?)

Family pictures lined the walls. Mom was prominently featured, holding small babies, and then later not-so-small babies. Thranduil smiled at a picture of Bain during what must have been his first bike ride without training wheels. Bard was trailing behind his son, clearly having abandoned the chase and smiling wide.

Bard left them to finish off dinner while Thranduil and Legolas walked into the sitting room. Sigrid and Bain and Tilda were waiting for them.

“LG!” Bain shouted, and Sigrid and Tilda cheered up instantly at the announcement.

“Hello,” Legolas smiled, “Have you met my father? This is Thranduil.”

“Hello Mr. Thranduil,” Sigrid said, pulling out her skirt for a small curtsy. Tilda took notice and pulled the hem of her shirt for a curtsy of her own.

 “Lovely to meet you, ladies,” Thranduil smiled and gave his own little bow, “And you as well, Bain. Legolas says you are doing well in soccer.”

“I’m doing all right,” Bain smiled bashfully.

“More than all right,” Legolas said, “If you play any better the other schools will need to sew handkerchiefs into their uniforms.”

“I’m not _that_ good,” Bain said. Tilda nudged her brother for a high five, and he reluctantly agreed.

“When will you be coaching again?” Sigrid asked.

“Hopefully soon,” Legolas said, “I don’t know anything for certain yet.”

Bard called out to them from the kitchen and they all met at the dinner table. The potatoes were mashed after all, and Thranduil noted with approval that they were not from a box. Bard prepared a fish fillet basked the table with a warm lemon aroma, and the greens looked so fresh they must have come from the market that afternoon.

Thranduil was hungry and everything looked delicious, but as tempting as the meal appeared it was moot before it passed his lips. Thranduil took a sip of wine and prepared for the bomb to drop. 

Bard sat beside Thranduil, and Legolas (who had been speaking with Bain about his geometry homework) fell quiet. The children all looked to their respective fathers.

“So,” Bard said. He paused for a moment and Thranduil looked at him meaningfully. Bard coughed and continued, “You’ve met Thranduil.”

The children nodded their assent and waited for their father to continue.

“He’s uh,” Bard strained for words, “Thranduil is the person I’m dating.”

“You’re dating?” Sigrid asked.

“It’s new,” Bard said. Thranduil nodded.

“I thought you liked girls,” Bain said, “Mom was a girl.”

“Yes, she was,” Bard said, “I loved your mother very much.”

“You don’t like girls anymore?” Bain asked.

“Of course he still likes girls, silly,” Tilda said, gesturing at Thranduil, “Look how pretty he is!”

“Tilda!” Bard said.

“Bard, it’s all right, I take my compliments where I can get them,” Thranduil said. Then he nodded gallantly at the young lady, “Thank you, Tilda.”

“You’re welcome,” Tilda said. She smiled to herself, clearly satisfied that she had settled this issue for everyone.

“You like boys now?” Bain asked, unwilling to drop it as easily as Tilda had.

“I like **_this_** boy,” Bard said. Bain looked no less distressed so Bard continued, “Sometimes you like someone and it doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl. Sometimes who they are is more important.”

Sigrid looked at Thranduil critically and asked, “So do you … like boys _and_ girls?”

“The word you’re looking for is bisexual,” Thranduil said. Legolas choked on his water and Thranduil realized that the young lady was staring at him aghast. Thranduil continued, “You know, like Freddie Mercury or Oscar Wilde?”

“I thought Freddie Mercury was gay,” Sigrid said.

“Some men are not meant to live in a box,” Thranduil said, “Some men just want to ride their bicycle.”

“That song isn’t about Bicycles?” Bain asked.

“It’s a Queen song, darling,” Thranduil said, “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“So … what happens now?” Bain asked.

“We eat dinner?” Bard said.

Thranduil set aside his wine, “What happens now is that we decide the ground rules. I’m going to be a part of your father’s life, but I’d like to get to know each of you better … if you’re interested.”

“Us?” Bain asked.

“You’re the most important people in Bard’s life,” Thranduil said, “Of course I want to know you.”

“Only if you want to,” Bard said, looking each of his children in the eye, “Only as much as you’re comfortable with.”

The kids thought it over for a few moments in which Thranduil contemplated just walking out the door and never returning. But it was Bain who spoke first:

“You could come to our games,” Bain said, “If you wanted to.”

“I’d be honored,” Thranduil smiled, then he leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Legolas doesn’t even give me his game schedule anymore.”

“I thought you didn’t want to come,” Legolas said.

“Nonsense,” Thranduil said, “Just because I have no idea what’s happening doesn’t mean that I don’t want to cheer you on.”

“Oh… okay,” Legolas said. He chewed on his green beans quietly.

“Okay?” Bard whispered into Thranduil’s ear.

“Never better,” Thranduil smiled.


	41. Tread Softly

After dinner everyone set about the business of clearing the table: stacking plates, covering leftovers, and taking the stacks of dirty dishes and trays on the epic pilgrimage from the dinner table all the way back to the kitchen counter. Bain headed outside with the garbage while girls wiped the table clean and traded gossip with Legolas. Thranduil smiled as he saw Legolas blush. 

And then, as the nightly meal neared the end of it's dissemblance, Bard took to the sink and began rinsing the flatware. Thranduil stepped beside him with a dry cloth.

"You really don't have to," Bard said.

"I won't hear it," Thranduil chided, "You would presume to help me wash my dishes- turnabout is fair play."

Bard shook his head and handed Thranduil a dripping plate.

Bain returned from his last chore of the night and he saw that his father was busy, so he rushed to the television where his sisters were already arguing about which movie they would watch that night. A heated debate over genre ensued: Bain wanted an action movie and Sigrid was happy to agree - but Tilda was willing to fight to the death for them to watch an animated film. Legolas waited patiently on the sofa for them to decide; for he seemed to find the live argument over the sibling’s respective favorites much more entertaining than any film.

 _This is nice_ , Thranduil thought, _so many parts working together_. Families are loud and messy and hard to predict or control, but the differences are what make them stronger. And at the end of the day everyone belongs to each other. 

"You hardly touched your meal," Bard said. It was an observation, not an accusation, but Thranduil thought that he heard a touch of sadness in Bard's voice, or more likely it was just concern. 

"There was nothing wrong with it," Thranduil said, "Really, it was great,"

"You feeling all right?" Bard asked, pulling the faucet handle to a close.

"Yes, yes,” Thranduil said, “It was just nerves.”

Bard sighed and said, "I understand: I was nervous too. I still am. I have no idea what the fallout will be, how they really feel."

"It's a change. Change is upsetting," Thranduil said, "Reassure them that you are still here for them, that's the only thing that matters."

"That's really nice," Bard laughed, "You read that in a book somewhere?"

"No, it's just something that my wife explained to me many years ago," Thranduil said. He picked up a pan and began scrubbing at it rather harder than was necessary, "She was always the level-headed one, and I thought I'd never manage without her. Whenever I think I'm losing it I just try to think of what she would do."

"Let me take that," Bard said, grabbing the pan from Thranduil. Thranduil surrendered it and his shoulders sagged. Bard said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"But I've successfully _avoided_ talking about it for so long," Thranduil laughed, but he was shaking like he was cold. He took a deep breath and said, "No, enough baggage. I'm not ashamed of what we had, and I'm not afraid of remembering it, not anymore.”

Bard stepped into Thranduil's arms and held him close. Thranduil didn’t say anything, just eased his weight into the embrace and breathed softly into Bard’s neck.

" _Did you think that after all of this that if you let me in I won’t like what I see?"_ Bard whispered in his ear.

“ _Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?_ ” Thranduil whispered back.

And then Thranduil was kissing Bard: tenderly at first with lips drawn close, and then pressing into him harder and harder until Bard unfolded to him with a gasping breath. Thranduil relished the taste of Bard's lips and warmth of his flesh. Thranduil could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against Bard's cheek as he looked up to glance at this man: this man who had so easily reached into his heart and shattered all the defenses that remained, _“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams_.”

“You definitely got that one from a book,” Bard said, kissing him again.

“That one, yes,” Thranduil laughed.

*             *             *             *             *

“Legolas, are you ready to go?” Thranduil asked from the door to the living room.

“I’d like to stay and watch the film,” Legolas said. On the television screen an animated red headed girl shot arrows into the sunset while bagpipe music played. Tilda bounced excitedly in her seat- obviously _her_ favorite film had won out.

“Very well, have a good time,” Thranduil said, “Make sure to call me when you come home.”

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas said.

Thranduil turned to face Bard at his side, and spoke in a quieter voice, “I guess I’ll be going then.” 

"Yeah?" Bard noticed that Thranduil had retrieved his coat, and so Bard slipped away to retrieve his own, “Wait just a minute!"

"What are you doing?" Thranduil asked, he followed Bard and rounded the corner to the front hallway in time to see Bard eagerly slipping on his boots. 

"I’ll walk you home,” Bard said. He stood up, ready to go, and reached out for Thranduil’s hand.

“It’s not much of a walk,” Thranduil said. He looked down at their interlocked fingers, in so short a time they found a way to fit together. It felt so right that he wondered how he had ever lived without it.

“We’ll improvise,” Bard said.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil and Bard dismissed their destination just across the street and they decided instead to wander like those who are lost. They walked down a forgotten avenue where all the shops were closed and dark but their signs still lit up the streets. Thranduil tucked under Bard's arm and matched him step for step as they ambled lazily along. A cold wind rushed by and only brought them closer. Bard barely had to murmur and Thranduil could feel his vioce vibrating in Bard’s chest like a cat purring.

“I liked the pictures on your wall,” Thranduil said, “You have a beautiful family.”

“Ah, yes,” Bard smiled.

“That's the first time I've ever seen your wife,” Thranduil said, “You all looked so happy together.”

"We were," Bard said, slowing his pace, suddenly a little short of breath without knowing precisely why.

"She was in so many photos, but not any recent ones," Thranduil said, rubbing a soft thumb down the sides of Bard's strong fingers, "It was like she vanished before her time."

“She loved taking photographs: she was always blossoming, her heart was open and she would smile on even the darkest day,” Bard said, “But in the last year that brightness was the first thing to go, and I hated to take pictures of her when she had pain in her eyes. She wasn’t taken from us all at once, but slowly, piece by piece.”

"I'm so sorry," Thranduil said.

"I took a photo of her was two years ago on Tilda's birthday," Bard said, "She was so happy, it was the brightest she had felt in months. It was a good day, and in those days she had so few good days left. I just wanted to capture that moment and pretend that we still had new memories left to make - But then after I got the photo developed all I could see was how small she looked ... and I couldn't bear it. Tilda keeps that photo in her room above her bed. That was the last photo I ever took of my wife."  

"The last photo?" Thranduil said.

"She died that spring," Bard said, "The snow hadn't even finished melting." 

Thranduil stopped to hold Bard close, wordless, just breath and heat exchanged between them. After a while, Thranduil spoke.

“Is it easier, knowing?” Thranduil said.

“You never know, not really,” Bard said, “No matter what the doctor’s said I assumed she would get better, that there would be happier days on the other side. I was always hoping for at least _one more_ good day.”

“That’s all any of us want,” Thranduil said.

“What was it like, not knowing?” Bard asked quietly, carefully. Thranduil pulled away and was quiet for a long time.

"I do not have fond last memories of us together. We were apart on her last night," Thranduil said, "She was driving back from her mother's, she called me from the road. I don't even remember what we talked about, it was late and I was tired. She had only called to let me know when she would be home. I told her that I would leave the light on for her."

"What happened?" Bard asked.

"She never made it home," Thranduil said, "The next morning I couldn't find her. I called her phone but it went straight to voicemail. I called her mother and all of her friends, but no one had heard from her since the day before. When I called the police and they wanted to wait 24 hours, but I insisted – I _knew_ something was wrong. The police helped me search the road that she would have driven home. We found Nothing. Nothing for days. I was in hell."

"Did you ever find her?" Bard asked.

"They found the car," Thranduil said, "Days later. Stripped to the frame in the middle of a field, burned."

"My god," Bard said.

“I tried praying,” Thranduil said, “I don’t know what I believe, I don’t believe in a God you can pray to, but I prayed so hard for her. Every night, with every breath, with every heart beat I promised to give everything I would ever do for the rest of my life just to bring her home safe. I would have sold everything I owned, I would have sold my very soul to make this happen.”

“Of course,” Bard said, “of course.”

"Sunday," Thranduil said, "Sunday they found her body: hidden in the woods beside the road at a stoplight five miles from town. I never spoke to my wife again, and I lost all interest in prayer."

"Oh no,” Bard said, his voice soft, unable to protect this man from horrors that had long ago left their mark.

"She put up a fight, she was never one to give up easy," Thranduil said, "But these men weren’t looking for a fight, all they wanted was the car. They shot her in the heart at close range, through and through. She died before they finished dragging her into the trees. They wanted the car, and it was nothing. It was nothing.”

Bard tried to reach out to him but Thranduil did not move. His body was stiff and his eyes were far away. They walked in silence for a while until Thranduil spoke again:

"I don't like to talk about it around Legolas," Thranduil said, "His mother was scared and alone when she died. She deserved better than that. I don't want him to remember her like that."

"You pass on her wisdom to him every day," Bard said, "You have honored her in a way that no thief can take steal."

"I just wish I could do it over," Thranduil said, "I wish I had a chance to tell her one last time how much she meant to me, how much she still means to me, and always will. By the time I realized she was gone it was too late." 

"Do you know what the last thing I said to my wife was?" Bard asked.

"Tell me," Thranduil said, looking into his eyes in the same way that sailors look at stars.

"She was sick for months," Bard said, "You never know when a goodbye is the last goodbye, but I couldn't bear thinking that she might slip away and if I didn’t say, ‘ _I Love You’_ one last time. I said it all the time. She laughed at me, called me a broken record."

"I'm sure she understood," Thranduil said.

"But that wasn't the last thing I ever said to her," Bard said.

"What did you say?" Thranduil asked.

"On her last night we were alone in intensive care for hours and hours. We refused to admit that we were waiting, but we both knew it was time. She was covered in wires and tubes and machines. She had long lost all her color. She lost all her roundness and softness. But still, all I could see was my wife in front of me: the mother of my children, and she was alive. I said goodbye to her every day for months but I just wanted to celebrate her one more time. She was still beautiful to me, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. So I told her that she was beautiful; there was nothing else to say."

"She was very beautiful," Thranduil smiled, "You can still see it in her daughters."

"Yeah," Bard said, coughing something that was threatening to close his throat.

"You’re quite beautiful, too," Thranduil said, brushing away a strand of flyaway hair from Bard’s face.

"You’re not saying goodbye, are you?” Bard asked.

They had circumnavigated the entire block, and arrived back at their respective doorsteps. They were wedged between windows where tiny eyes waited for their fathers to return, and there was no hope for privacy in this place. The evening was over. They had only moments.

“Never,” Thranduil said. He kissed Bard chastely on the cheek, and Bard smiled.

Then when Thranduil began to pull away Bard pressed in close to kiss him harder, longer, until Thranduil was pressed against his own doorframe. Bard listened the moans Thranduil made with primal satisfaction. 

“ _Tomorrow,_ ” Bard said.

Thranduil nodded weakly and watched Bard walk away.


	42. Well That Could've Gone Better

Bilbo was able to find a pair of cheap rooms at the last possible minute, and after a couple of texts with Thorin to tell him the address Bilbo sat in the lobby to wait for him to arrive. So he waited. And waited some more. Several well-meaning lobby boys and concierge dropped by to check on him and see if he needed assistance but he did not abandon his post. (Well, maybe for an hour or two when the bar had two-for-ones).

Finally, after midnight there was a familiar tinkling of bells at the front door and the man of the hour stepped in:

“Thorin, Thorin!” Bilbo cried out, “Where have you been, we’ve been waiting up all night for you!”

“I got lost,” Thorin said, “I had to walk around this place twice before I found the right door. It’s not important. I have to get to the mountain.”

“Why?” Bilbo asked, “It’s getting late, no one will be up there now.”

“That’s why I need to be there,” Thorin said, “I need to get there before anyone else, ANYONE else.”

“Um, okay,” Bilbo said, scratching his neck, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Smaug fellow would it?”

“How do you know about him?” Thorin snapped.

“That would be because of me,” Gandalf said, stepping out of a shadow, “You’re not the only one worried about Smaug, Durin.”

“This was the real reason you offered to help,” Thorin fumed, “All this time your eyes were not on the mountain, they were on Smaug.”

“I’ve been afraid that this would happen for some time now,” Gandalf said.

“You're afraid,” Thorin said.

“Yes! Yes, I'm afraid!” Gandalf said, “I fear for this town, Thorin. A sickness lies on that mountain, a sickness that drives men mad!”

“I’m mad?” Thorin said, “You would let fear stop all progress, and I am mad!?”

“You are not yourself!” Gandalf said, “The Thorin I thought I knew would not move forward when his action might cause disaster.”

“Maybe we should wait and talk this out in the morning,” Bilbo said. Their voices had roused the sleepy concierge to look up from their crossword to look up at the disturbance, Thorin glared at the man until he backed down.

“Why don’t _you_ go to bed, Bilbo,” Thorin said, “This conversation has nothing to do with you.”

Gandalf looked scandalized but Bilbo just huffed and pulled out an envelope and thrust it at Thorin, “Fine. Here’s your room key, then: 107. Have a great night.”

Gandalf waited until Bilbo walked away and then he said, “Well that was rude! Go after him and apologize right now.”

“Not now, Gandalf,” Thorin said, “Listen, I need you to take back my boys.”

“Take the dogs back?” Gandalf asked, “Take them back where?”

“Take them back home,” Thorin said.

“Take them back yourself if you’re going home,” Gandalf said, “I thought you were staying longer.”

“I am staying,” Thorin said, “I’m going to finish what I started. I can’t afford any distractions; I can’t babysit anyone else when I have promises to keep.”

“You have promises to keep with people here, too,” Gandalf said, arms still crossed.

“I will not risk this quest for the sake of one hacker,” Thorin said.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said, “His name is Bilbo! And he is one of the only people in this town who agreed to help you, you little shit!”

Gandalf narrowed his eyes and pulled out a pipe. The concierge pointed to a ‘NO SMOKING’ side and Gandalf walked to the exit.

“Where are you going?” Thorin said.

“To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense,” Gandalf said.

“And who’s that?” Thorin said.

“Myself!” Gandalf said. The bells tinkled behind him.


	43. You're the Bee's Knees

Thorin looked down at the key in his hand. Surely Bilbo could have left it at the front desk; they handled keys and check-ins. Why did Bilbo wait so long after dark just to give this key to Thorin in person? Yet another gesture handled with a good-natured civility from the curly haired hacker, Thorin could not figure him out.

Thorin walked down the hall to the room, his anger dissipating into questioning: _Why did Bilbo want to give this to him in person? Why did he stick around after all of the crap Thorin had dragged him through? What was he still doing here?_

Thorin never caught what room Bilbo was in. Thorin assumed that Bilbo would be sleeping in an adjacent room … he could try knocking… but it was a little late to be disturbing the neighbors. Perhaps this would have to wait until tomorrow morning.

But Bilbo was not locked away in his room for the night. He was in the hall, sitting alone, reaching into his pocket.

“What is that in your hand?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo seized up, startled. When he looked to see who it was he shoved the item back in his pocket and said, “What have I done now?”

“Nothing,” Thorin said, checking his tone, “Nothing, I just … I was curious.”

Bilbo reached into his pocket and opened his hand, and there Thorin saw a small gleaming acorn.

“I picked it up in Beorn's garden,” Bilbo said.

“That was weeks ago,” Thorin laughed. Thorin remembered their stay with Beorn: the large overgrown garden, the apiary, and the fresh goat’s milk. It was one of many stops on their way to the mountain since Bilbo had joined Thorin’s journey. Thorin was reminded that this was Bilbo’s journey too, “You've carried it all this way?”

“I'm going to plant it in my garden,” Bilbo said, “In Bag End.”

Thorin looked at the small seed, “It's a poor prize to take back to the Shire.”

“One day it'll grow. And every time I look at it, I'll remember,” Bilbo said, “Remember everything that happened: the good, the bad... and how lucky I am that I made it home.”

Bilbo smiled down on his little acorn, no doubt with plans to nurture it and watch it grow. Bilbo was a man who knew what it meant to set down roots. Bilbo had patience and dreams that didn’t hurt anybody.  Thorin ached looking at him, he was just about the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

“Thorin, I,” Bilbo started, but Thorin cut him off.

Thorin pulled Bilbo up close and kissed him on the forehead. When he pulled away Bilbo was wide-eyed and shaken, and staring fixedly at Thorin’s lips.

“What was that for?” Bilbo asked.

“Goddam hackers bringing back acorns for their gardens,” Thorin said, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Thorin unlocked his door and went to bed. Bilbo had the room next door and he heard the shower from next door running for a long time.


	44. You'll Be My Franz Ferdinand

Thranduil looked across the street from his bedroom window. The flickering blue light of the film shone from the family room, and a smaller yellow light shone in the kitchen. Bard sat at the kitchen table, his makeshift desk, flipping through mail and taking notes on a legal pad. Even from this distance Thranduil could see a strand of hair falling into Bard’s face; Thranduil longed to push the strand aside and to continue their conversation from earlier, or even just to ask what he was working on. The thought was like a happy hum in his brain, and he closed his blinds so that he could lie down for the night.

Thranduil fell into bed slept soundly that night, a deeper sleep he hadn’t known in many years.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil woke from a gentle rustling at his shoulder.

“ _Go to sleep, Little Leaf_ ,” Thranduil moaned, “ _Leave me be_.”

“Ada, you must wake up,” Legolas said, “We have company.”

Thranduil’s eyes popped open at that, “And you let them in?”

“We know them,” Legolas said, “It was the Lady Galadriel.”

“Like I give a Fu-“ Thranduil started to say, but Legolas interrupted.

“She brought Elrond with her,” Legolas said, “I think it’s serious. They asked me to awake you at once.”

“Tell them I will join them momentarily,” Thranduil sighed. Legolas, thus placated, retreated from his father’s bedroom.

Thranduil took as much time as he pleased. He brushed his teeth, shaved with languid strokes, and even spent several minutes straightening his hair with a finesse that his tame locks did not demand. Thus pleased with his appearance and the inconvenience to his guests- Thranduil opened his bedroom door ready to entertain his visitors.

“Thranduil,” Elrond said, “How are you feeling, I heard you were ill?”

“Luckily I’ve been getting plenty of rest, thank you for asking,” Thranduil said with a slight bow of his head. He accepted a cup of coffee from Legolas. Legolas then offered the pot to Elrond and Galadriel who had been there long enough for refills. Thranduil savored the fresh coffee and the simmering resentment of his impatient guests, “I trust you have news.”

“Bad tidings, I’m afraid,” Elrond said.

Thranduil’s phone chirped with birdsong, a signature notification that Thranduil had recently assigned to messages from a particular sender. _Should have known you were an Early Bird_ , Thranduil smiled.

Elrond was distracted by the noise for a moment, then continued, “You have heard that there was movement on the Mountain.”

“Oh please,” Thranduil yawned, taking a loud sip of coffee, “You’ve got more than that.”

“Excuse me?” Elrond said. Thranduil’s phone chirped again and he didn’t move to answer it. The repeated distraction brought a small twitch to Elrond’s eye, a nervous tick in his otherwise composed demeanor, “Aren’t you going to get that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Thranduil smiled, he turned to look at Galadriel who was so stern she might actually turn into marble, “Look- Neither of you want to be here, so it has to be important. What have you got?”

“Smaug,” Galadriel said.

“He’s been seen?” Thranduil asked.

“No, but we have long kept eyes on this threat. And after all these years he has crept back into our world,” Galadriel said, “Rumor grew of his movement south, whispers of a nameless fear. Now his time has come, and we must be ready.”

“You come to me with rumor,” Thranduil said.

“This is more dire than you realize,” Elrond said.

“You ignored me when I told you about Thorin,” Thranduil said, “When I had proof!”

“This isn’t about Thorin,” Galadriel said, her voice still calm.

“No, you’re still ignoring that threat because it doesn’t concern you,” Thranduil said, “Not ‘Little Miss Eyes-on-the-Prize’, you probably only care because Smaug wants to put a golf course on your condo!”

“That’s not very nice,” Elrond said.

“SHUT UP ELROND,” Thranduil and Galadriel said in unison.

“Smaug is a bigger threat than Thorin,” Galadriel said, “Much bigger than you can conceive of in your limited selfish imagination.”

“I’m all ears, Princess,” Thranduil said.

“Smaug is testing the soil for mineral deposits, he will drill into the entire mountain range to find it,” Galadriel said, “And because he will seek a large enough hoard for profit, the effect will be that the surrounding area will be consumed in industrial waste and ruin.”

“All that soot would probably leave a nasty mess on your Armani, huh?” Thranduil mused.

Galadriel slapped him, the sound rung out across the suddenly silent room. Elrond stared in reactionary horror but Thranduil just sat there, head lowered from the force of it.

Legolas walked up behind Galadriel and said, “ _You have to go now_.”

Galadriel looked back at Legolas with a hint of sadness in her eyes, but nodded. She grabbed her handbag and left a business card on the table, then without another word she marched primly out the door.

Elrond followed her, but before he left he said, “This isn’t over, Thranduil.”

“Goodbye, Elrond,” Thranduil said.

Legolas closed the door behind them. He walked back to his father and set a hand on his shoulder.

“You were such an ass,” Legolas said, “Why did you do that?”

“Her concern is from the outside,” Thranduil said. He checked his phone, two missed texts.

**Bard: i should have told you last night, i ran into thorin. smaug is back, hes aiming for coal.**

**Bard: anyway, i need to see you, weve got to get a plan together.**

Thranduil smirked, _of course he already knew_ , “The solution to our problem will come from within.”


	45. Another Bride Another June

“That BASTARD!” Galadriel stormed down the stairs, “That INCONCIEVABLE BASTARD!”

“Galadriel!” Elrond called out from the top of the stairs, “Galadriel, wait!”

Galadriel ignored him, “IMPUDENT! UNGRATEFUL! LACKING ALL HONOR!”

“We get it, he sucks,” Elrond panted as he tried to keep up with her, “Could you slow down?”

On the sidewalk outside of Thranduil’s apartment Galadriel stumbled against a group of passerby and fell into the arms of a man standing by the door, luckily the man was a total silver fox.

“My lady, can I be of assistance?” Gandalf asked.

“Mithrandir,” Galadriel said, her anger easing off her shoulders like a heavy coat, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Gandalf said.

“You think that line is always going to work on me?” Galadriel said.

“Here’s to hoping,” Gandalf smiled.

 Elrond stepped out of the building and onto the street just in time to see Galadriel lock lips with a grey fellow who smelled like weed. Elrond was so horrified that he didn’t notice one of the parents he was counseling sneak past him and walk into Thranduil’s open apartment building.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil opened his door to find Bard leaning expectantly against the doorframe, eyebrows raised and a flower in his teeth.

“You think you’re so fucking cute,” Thranduil smirked.

Thranduil grabbed the flower impatiently and dragged Bard over the threshold. The door slammed behind them, and Thranduil pushed Bard back against it so hard that it took Bard’s breath away. Bard was dizzy with surprise but his hands knew better than his brain and sought out prime real estate, settling on the inside of the back pockets of Thranduil’s jeans. Thranduil rubbed his body against Bard, and in response Bard squeezed, hard. The sound Thranduil made could not honestly be called ‘ _dignified_.’

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Legolas said, walking into the room carrying a bowl of cereal.

“ _I’m going to rent us a hotel room, I swear to Ilúvatar,_ ” Thranduil whispered, and he reluctantly released his grip on his tender mancandy. Bard stepped aside and tried to think of baseball.

“Good Morning, Legolas,” Bard said.

“Mr. Bowman,” Legolas bowed his head in recognition and then walked into his room without another word. They heard the click of the lock as soon as Legolas closed his door.

“I feel so dirty,” Bard said quietly.

“And that’s just how I like you,” Thranduil giggled and pulled Bard into the bedroom.


	46. Bring Your Pretty Face to My Axe

“Legolas is right down the hall,” Bard said, taking no measure to stop their progress.

“ _We’ll just have to whisper then!_ ” Thranduil said, he pulled the bedroom door shut with as little noise as possible and, following his son’s example, he locked the door. Then Thranduil turned to tip Bard onto his back on the bed. Bard’s dark hair fanned out around him and his clothes were shifted up his body, but not nearly enough for Thranduil’s taste.

“I really did come here to talk,” Bard said.

“Ah yes,” Thranduil laughed, putting on a mock German accent, “We Have Ways of Making You Talk.”

*             *             *             *             *

Locked safely away in his room Legolas scowled and turned on his computer. He shut down an application which allowed him to submit math practice problems to his teacher online and opened up a message window. On the list of available contacts the one person he felt he could really talk to was flashing as available. Legolas opened a chat session and said hello.

**GreenLeaf: My dad is being so weird lately.**

**RetakeMoria: Aye, dads are the worst.**

**GreenLeaf: What is your dad like?**

**RetakeMoria: He’s a great man, but he still treats me like a little kid.**

**GreenLeaf: I feel you.**

**RetakeMoria: What’s your dad doing that’s got you so freaked out?**

**GreenLeaf: …**

**GreenLeaf: …**

**GreenLeaf: …**

**RetakeMoria: OUT WITH IT**

**GreenLeaf: He’s dating our neighbor.**

**RetakeMoria: That’s not so bad, you said your mom passed a long time ago. Is your neighbor nice?**

**GreenLeaf: Yeah, he is.**

**RetakeMoria: …**

**GreenLeaf: Yeaaaaaaaaaahhhh**

**RetakeMoria: wow**

**GreenLeaf: I wouldn’t be so freaked out if I wasn’t friends with the guy’s kids. I coach their soccer team.**

**RetakeMoria: That sounds nice, young rascals running about. Good kids?**

**GreenLeaf: Great kids. That’s the problem. If this goes south this has the potential to split everyone apart.**

**RetakeMoria: To Hell with that! You were friends before your dads got involved, you’ll be friends when they break up.**

**GreenLeaf: But I don’t want them to break up.**

**RetakeMoria: You don’t?**

**GreenLeaf: I mean, my dad drives me crazy, and he has only been crazier since they got together. But he’s so much more open now, the distance between us I’ve always known is closing.**

**RetakeMoria: Good for you. Not everyone gets to be close to their dad.**

**GreenLeaf: I am lucky. I just wish they would make sure that I’m not in the room before they start fooling around …**

**RetakeMoria: I’VE HEARD ENOUGH.**


	47. Where Are My Manners?

“Gandalf!” Elrond said, “What are you doing!?”

“Use your eyes, you fool,” Gandalf said, rising from the liplock and turning a sassy grin on Elrond. Galadriel rolled her eyes and pulled away, straightening her crème colored pencil skirt and regaining her usual regal bearing.

“Please,” Galadriel said, “We’re all adults here, right?”

“That remains to be seen,” Gandalf said.

“That’s enough,” Galadriel said. Gandalf nodded but said nothing. Galadriel continued, “Gandalf came as a friend to Thorin, but he shares our concerns about Smaug.”

“Then your quest is our quest,” Elrond said, reaching out his hand, “And I am happier to have you with us.”

“Likewise,” Gandalf shook hands with Elrond and Galadriel nodded her aproval.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil smiled and walked slowly to the bed.

“Thranduil, please,” Bard laughed, “This isn’t the time.”

“Of course not,” Thranduil said, he put one knee on the bed and slowly and deliberately shifted his center of gravity closer and closer to Bard. Mattress springs creaked. Thranduil placed a hand on Bard’s shoulder, “Why, I haven’t taken your coat, what a terrible host I’ve been. Let me get that for you.”

“Okay,” Bard said, sitting up to shrug out of the canvas jacket.

Thranduil took over the procedure running his hands down Bard’s arms with each sleeve and leaving goosebumps in his wake. Bard turned over his shoulder to look at Thranduil who kept a resolute poker face the entire time. Bard turned to kiss him, but Thranduil pulled away.

“Not the time, is it?” Thranduil said. The corner of his mouth creeped up and he threw the coat on the ground with a muffled thud. Then he looked over Bard again and said, “Well it isn’t really proper to be in bed with shoes on.”

“It’s not?” Bard asked, a challenge rising in his chest.

“No,” Thranduil said, “Not proper at all. Shame on you.”

“Shall I?” Bard said, leaning over to kick his shoes off. Thranduil slapped his hands away.

“I’ll see it done,” Thranduil said. He knelt down at the foot of the bed and slowly untied the laces, loosening their hold and pulling the shoes at an angle so that they dragged Bard’s feet up as he pulled. First one shoe, then the other, and then Thranduil started on the socks.

“Whoa there,” Bard said, “Socks too?”

“Are you shy?” Thranduil asked. Bard shook his head but said nothing. Thranduil continued, “Are you sensitive?”

He ran a single finger down the arch of Bard’s foot causing Bard’s shoulders to jerk uncontrollably in a shiver that set his teeth on edge.

“Mark that down as a yes,” Thranduil smiled, and tugged both of socks and tossed them on the floor inside of the boots, “Ah yes, much better. Much, much better.”

“You’re a menace,” Bard said.

“I’m your menace,” Thranduil said. Thranduil dragged his nails up Bard’s leg. He dug in deep enough to be felt through the denim, making a slow scratching trail from the knee to the thighs. Bard grabbed Thranduil’s hand to stop him. Thranduil stopped and looked up to Bard, “Too much?”

“You’re still wearing your robe,” Bard said.

Thranduil looked down at the dark fabric hanging from his shoulders, as if seeing it for the first time. He spoke as if commenting on the state of the weather or the traffic, “So I am.”

“Too late in the morning for that,” Bard said.

“I suppose it is,” Thranduil said.

Bard smiled, “Let me help you with that.”

Bard sat up and pulled Thranduil up from his perch to the bedside, until Thranduil was in his arms. Thranduil was relaxed, arms down, breathing into Bard’s hair. Bard slipped inside the robe and pulled the fabric down from Thranduil’s shoulders, letting it fall down his arms and onto the floor.

It was silent for several moments and Bard whispered, “ _Isn’t that better?_ ”

“ _Much_ ,” Thranduil whispered back, Bard could hear the bite of his teeth at the front of his mouth. It sent his blood on fire.

Bard kissed him deep, and brought his hand up to feel Thranduil’s chest. He felt the heart pounding within: strong, warm, alive. He twisted them around and pushed Thranduil down on the bed.

“What are we doing now?” Thranduil said. His voice was light, his lids heavy and his lips red and full.

“We’re talking,” Bard spoke with an earthy timber. He lifted his body so that he straddled Thranduil, resting the weight of his body on Thranduil’s hips. He felt warm and tight in his jeans, and his body rejoiced at the pressure of Thranduil rocking his body beneath him.

“I like talking,” Thranduil said.


	48. Win Friends and Influence People

Bard unhooked Thranduil’s belt with precise, deliberate motions. Bard popped open the button at the top of Thranduil's jeans and then when he dragged the zipper down he allowed the noise of it to jangle against the hushed air.

Thranduil felt unbound, all of the pressure holding him together suddenly vanished. Thranduil couldn't speak; all he could see was a sliver of pink tongue between Bard’s tight lips and the sight rendered Thranduil's brain unable to form coherent thought. Thinking became even more hopeless as Bard eased down low on his elbows between Thranduil’s legs, and then he propped Thranduil's left leg over his shoulder. Bard slid his hand up the back of Thranduil's shirt. Bard ran the pads of his fingers against Thranduil’s back, digging in his fingers with gentle pressure and luxuriating in sensuous touch. Bard pressed his forehead against Thranduil's thigh, relishing in warmth and anticipation.

"What were we talking about again?" Thranduil's voice was deep and lilting. 

Bard smiled and grazed his cheek against the fair hair trailing down Thranduil's stomach to where it sank below his belt line. Bard's caress was so gentle that Thranduil could feel him breathing. Bard kissed Thranduil gently on his heated skin, and then Bard pulled down the sheath of Thranduil’s boxer’s with his teeth.

" _Oh,_ " Thranduil said, but all he could think was:  _So close, so close_.

"Yes?" Bard asked.

" _Yes_ ," Thranduil said, suddenly breathless, “ _God, yes, please_.”

“And you say you don’t pray,” Bard chuckled.

Thranduil began to protest but then Bard took him into his mouth and worked his tongue over the head. Thranduil arched his back and dug his fingers into the sheets, all of the fight in him forgotten. Thranduil abandoned all pretenses and unraveled to nobler tongues. Everything was warm and tense and pounding, even as his breathing felt too shallow in his quavering chest. Just when he thought he might recover Bard worked deeper, stroked harder, or retreated long enough to throw Thranduil off balance.

Finally, _finally_ , Thranduil felt a tremble welling up deep inside of him, and he knew. Thranduil shook Bard’s shoulder to stop him and Bard looked up. Thranduil pulled Bard up so that they were side-by-side but Thranduil kept one hand on his cock. Bard settled his hand over Thranduil’s and let him guide him through the final strokes until Thranduil finished: rocking through wave after wave of blinding ecstasy, speechless and shaking.

Bard kissed him hard and Thranduil was too weak to protest. Thranduil struggled just to keep breathing and hold on: he was shining with sweat, sticky with his own cum, and kissing the man who did this to him. Thranduil knew that if he questioned his good fortune now that he would be a madman ... _even if the kiss was a little salty_.  

After Thranduil caught his breath, he opened up Bard’s shirt and leaned over him, heavily, lazily. Thranduil trailed his lips over Bard’s pecs, exploring the hills and valleys of warm breathing flesh. Thranduil found Bard's heartbeat, racing now but slowing back to it's normal rhythm. Thranduil kissed him there, at the source of Bard's heart beating from within his chest, and then Thranduil began to suck, **_hard_**. Bard tossed his head back and moaned. Bard did not tell him to stop, instead he idly stroked Thranduil’s hair as he worked. Thranduil didn’t stop until he was certain that he would leave a mark, and then he broke with a kiss and leaned back to smile at his handy work.

“What was that about?” Bard asked, trailing his fingers across the red tender skin.

“A reminder,” Thranduil said.

“How could I ever forget?” Bard asked.

Thranduil leaned back down to kiss Bard, on the lips this time, long and slow. Their fingers intertwined and Thranduil settled happily against Bard’s bare chest. Bard rested his head on golden locks and sighed, filled with a happiness so unprecedented that it seemed impossible.

“We really do need to talk,” Bard said quietly.

“Not right now we don’t,” Thranduil said.

And so, for a few moments anyway, they didn’t.


	49. Living in a State of Dreaming

The Shire. Thank God, how he’d missed it: the trees and the flowers and the stupid relatives trying to steal his cutlery. Bilbo rested on a park bench under the lofty protection of a large tree, and watched the clouds and the people go by.

Then there was a crash. It must have been a bus or a train or some kind of fallen airplane because the ground shook and the buildings crunched and the people screamed. Bilbo left his bench and found himself in the middle of the wreckage. The familiar street was transformed into a smoking crater: twisted and burnt metal, glowing embers, and foul smelling gases. Some people were screaming, and even worse, some people weren’t.

Bilbo began searching among the bodies, trying to find faces he knew and hoping he wouldn’t. He saw his neighbors, he saw his family, he saw his best friends. Dogs crawled out of the shadows, dark monstrous beasts that growled and howled and bore menacing fangs. What bodies they did not drag away they devoured on the spot.

The fire on the horizon grew closer, the heat found him before the flames did.

“Gandalf, help!” Bilbo screamed, hoping for some kind of rescue. As despicable as it was to devour the dead, surely these monsters wouldn’t mind something a little fresher if they could find it, “Gandalf!”

Bilbo knelt in a corner and felt something wet. It was another body, this one was bleeding. Bilbo looked down to identify them, “Thorin! Thorin are you all right!?”

The body did not answer him. The body stared into the light with unseeing eyes, the mouth agape at the horror all around. Then the dogs found them.

*             *             *             *             *

White sheets. Strange light. The gentle hum of traffic outside.

Bilbo moans. No matter how long he is away Bilbo will never stop listening for the familiar birds outside of his window in the morning. Bilbo shakes himself back to the world of today, the past returning to him in an angry buzz of circumstances and complications until he remembers how he came to be in this place so far from home: Gandalf, Thorin, the road ahead stretching ever onward.

Bilbo rose from bed but after brushing his teeth and putting his waistcoat back on there wasn’t much left for him to do in the small room. With nothing left more pressing it seemed like a perfect time to attend to the business of making breakfast. Bilbo smiled and left his room.

When he left the room the first thing that Bilbo saw were dark braids turning around the corner, Bilbo chased after him.

"Thorin! Wait up!" Bilbo said.

“What is it,” Thorin said. His face was hard.

“I thought you might want to have breakfast,” Bilbo said, trying to smile enough for both of them.

"Not now," Thorin said.

"I thought we were past this," Bilbo said.

"Past what?"  Thorin asked.

"Past you not trusting me enough to talk to me," Bilbo said, "Past you leaving me behind whenever something else catches your attention."

"This is different, this is something I have to do alone,” Thorin said.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Why can't you just tell me what is going on?” Bilbo asked, flinching on how his voice rose in pitch on the last syllable. He held his gaze, though, and waited for Thorin to speak for himself.

“There are things you don’t know,” Thorin said, “About what happened that forced me to leave this place. Some of it is unsavory, and some of it I wish I could keep you from getting entangled in. I’m going to ask you something and I want you to think about it before you respond. Are you **_sure_** that you want in on this?”

Bilbo didn’t think. He knew.

“Yes.”

*             *             *             *             *

Thorin thinks back, way back, back when he used to be the King of this town. He remembered how his office was in the middle of a clay covered construction site that was always overpowered by the noise of drills and cranes and trucks. He remembered the way that the stars filled the sky at night and how the air smelled after rain.  

One particular memory stands out to him now, a minor incident at the time but one that struck him as significant much later. Thorin arrived at his office late one night after a devastating injunction that would delay progress by weeks if not months. Thorin had smiled for the judge but now he was ready to crush something with his bare hands. The site was abandoned but his best scotch was in the liquor cabinet in his office, and he needed to start filling out the paperwork to appeal the decision as soon as possible. Or maybe he would save himself some time and just hire more lawyers, better lawyers.

The office was dark but something told Thorin he wasn’t alone. He flipped the light switch but nothing happened. Then the red glow of a cigarette appeared in the darkness.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Thorin said, prepared to use his briefcase as a weapon if he had to. He was sure it could function as a serviceable blunt force object, so long as the intruder hadn’t found the gun in his safe.

“Relax Thorin, son of Thrain,” the man said, he had a deep rumbling voice and the words carried smoke into the room, “I knew your father. My name is Smaug.”

“My father warned me about you,” Thorin said, “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“I’m here to offer consolation,” Smaug said, “I saw the news today, sounds like law is beginning to turn against you.”

“I have no problems with the law,” Thorin growled.

“No,” Smaug said, “After all, the law is just another tool in your arsenal if you want to make trouble for people. Your real problem is the person who filed the injunction.”

“What do you know of it?” Thorin asked.

“More than you think,” Smaug said, “He is the thorn in many sides.”

“He is … irksome,” Thorin admitted. The man took a long draw from his cigarette and then blew a smoke ring into the center of the room. Thorin shifted his suitcase in his hand, unwilling to step into enemy territory.

“Wouldn’t it be better if he just,” Smaug blew out more smoke, “ _Went Away_?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorin said.

The man laughed, deep and loud and reverberating off the walls, “Oh I think you **_do_** – I think you’ve thought about it much more than I have, and for much longer.”

“What do you want, Smaug?” Thorin said.

“I just want for you to think about it,” Smaug said.

The lights came on and by the time Thorin finished blinking and adjusted to the change the man had gone, his cigarette was still lit and resting on Thorin’s desk. Thorin stomped over to the cigarette and blunted it out with some old mail.

Thorin opened his door and shouted into the night, “You think you’re some kind of Goddamned Bat Man!? Come back here again and I’ll call the cops, I swear it!”

*             *             *             *             *

It had been over a decade since Thranduil had filed the injunction that brought the malicious visit from the corporate madman. Thorin had watched the papers closely since then but nothing ever came of the veiled threat, after all, the blond prick was still giving him trouble today. Thorin didn’t know if Smaug had intended to deliver on his words, but if those were the kinds of tactics he was up against Smaug would make a terrible advisory.

Bilbo walked beside him as they left the hotel. Thorin heard a familiar jingle from Bilbo’s pocket.

“Oh, that’s Gandalf,” Bilbo smiled as he pulled out his cell phone.

“Leave it,” Thorin said.

“What?” Bilbo asked, “Why?”

“The man has a talent for interference,” Thorin said, “Where we’re going I don’t want him to follow.”

“But we’ll call him later, right?” Bilbo asked, “I don’t want for him to get worried.”

“After,” Thorin said.


	50. In and Out of Lock Down

Bard pulled on his boots and coat, and Thranduil zipped up his pants. They fixed their hair and brushed their teeth (Bard noticed that there was a second toothbrush in the cup next to the sink but said nothing, only smiled). They took their time straightening the pillows and blankets (Thranduil noticed that Bard hummed to himself while he worked, a gravelly wordless tune that probably owed its origins to Paul McCartney or Bob Dylan. Thranduil said nothing, only smiled.)

“I have to leave,” Bard said. He was reaching for the door handle, and Thranduil was leaning next to the door on the wall watching him go.

“Now?” Thranduil asked.

“No,” Bard said, “But soon.”

Bard turned from the door and leaned into Thranduil’s arms, and Thranduil held him close. Bard didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, but still Thranduil said gently whispered, “ _Shhhhhh_ ,” into Bard’s ear until Bard relaxed and sank against him. Bard circled his arms around him and Thranduil ran his fingertips against the back of Bard’s arms, only making him close in tighter.

“You smell like hazelnut,” Bard said.

“It’s new, do you like it?” Thranduil asked.

Bard knew that this smell would never be the same for him; that forevermore any trace of that scent would bring him back right here to this moment. Bard breathed in deep, holding Thranduil close.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bard whispered.

*             *             *             *             *

After waiting for what felt like an eternity Legolas pulled out his headphones and shut off his computer. There was no noise from outside. Legolas spared a glance at Tauriel for guidance but she was silent on this issue. When Legolas finally unlocked his door and ventured back into the living room he was surprised to see that Bard was still there, but he and Thranduil were far from intimate. In fact, they were downright somber. However, Thranduil brightened almost instantly when he saw Legolas.

“Legolas, good to see you,” Thranduil said, “Come, sit with me.”

“What are you guys doing?” Legolas asked.

Thranduil was pouring over a tabletop landscape of documents and charts, with photographs and sticky notes littered throughout. Bard sat beside Thranduil taking notes on a legal pad, his handwriting a string of neat capital letters moving in straight lines from left to right.

The scene was complex, but Legolas recognized it because it was a case that Thranduil often revisited over the years: the accident at the mountain.

“Same old story,” Thranduil sighed, “Such is the nature of evil, in time all foul things come forth.”

“You’re still mad at Thorin?” Legolas asked. Thranduil didn’t respond, just looked Legolas in the eye until Legolas understood. _Nothing will undo what was done; We never forget._

“Who is this?” Legolas asked. He picked up a picture of a man leaving a courthouse in a flurry of press flashes and surrounded by the fury of an angry mob carrying signs and shouting angrily. It was a new face, not one of the short bearded Durins. Legolas looked closer at the picture: even while he was surrounded by chaos and anger and hate the man looked like he was having the time of his life, a perverse smile spread across his face.

“Do not worry about him,” Thranduil said.

“This is who Galadriel is worried about,” Legolas said.

“Who is Galadriel?” Bard asked. Thranduil put his hand over Bard’s and shook his head as he mouthed, _Not now_.

“Let Galadriel worry about him, if that is what she wishes,” Thranduil said, Bard did a doubletake as Thranduil’s voice filled with a deep tone of authority, “Thorin is the one who awakened this beast, and I will not let him continue.”

“What are you going to do?” Legolas asked.

“We’re going to knock on his front door,” Bard smiled.


	51. Like A Rock

Bilbo coughed. The air was cold and there was a tension in it: something was coming, something big. The mountain loomed ahead and home was so far behind that it was hard to imagine it existing in the same universe. Was it there still, waiting for them when they came home ( _if_ they came home?)

Down the sidewalk they strode: Thorin walked purposefully forward and people parted for him like the Red Sea, meanwhile Bilbo trailed behind leaving a string of apologies as people turned their gaze away and bumped shoulders with him. Thorin was a man on the mission but Bilbo was the man still trying to figure out where he stood amongst the plans of mice and men. _What a pair they must make, what must people think, what was he doing here?_

Thorin and Bilbo stood side-by-side waiting on a traffic light when Thorin turned and said, “Bilbo?”

“Yes, Thorin?” Bilbo said.

“You’re worried, I know,” Thorin said, “But please try to relax. I can hardly think when you wring your hands like that.”

“Am I?” Bilbo asked. He looked down to his hands but when he tried to pull them straight they shook with nervous energy. He put them in his pockets.

“Come along, hacker,” Thorin laughed as the crosswalk flashed green, “We’ll find an adventure for you yet.”

*          *          *          *          *

When they reached the outskirts of town Thorin flagged down a beat up silver Chevy pickup. Bilbo was surprised to see the man driving was the same angry barista from Starbucks the day before, except now the man was wearing a blue flannel shirt and many more piercings than Bilbo had ever seen congregated on one human face. Dain smiled at them and his eyes gleamed with a madness brighter than any metal.

After they settled inside the pickup Thorin and Dain embraced like long lost brothers, and Dain drove down the lane into the darkening treeline.

“Thought ye would be callin me sooner or later after I saw ya geriatric friend at me shop,” Dain said.

“Hey, Gandalf is not _that_ old,” Thorin said.

“He is though,” Dain said.

“Respect your elders, you little punk,” Thorin said, and he and Dain laughed riotously.

“So, this wee lad must be with you then?” Dain turned to face Bilbo as if only just realizing that he was there.

“His name is Bilbo,” Thorin said.

“Made it here, didn’t he?” Dain said, “Must have shown his mettle.”

“Ay,” Thorin nodded.

Bilbo had no idea what they meant.

As the road wound up the mountain clean pavement gave way to gravel covered embankments and potholes the size of ponies. Dain navigated the treacherous pass with an easy knowledge, never stopping his monologue about how the whole town, “Went to shit so soon as ye left us. Would ya look at that? Cryin shame, I’m tellin ye.”

Thorin chuckled as though he had heard it all before. The truck rattled over a hole and Bilbo wished Dain would keep his eyes on the road.

Soon they reached the buildings at the base of the mountain. The buildings had steel roofs and the chain link fence all around. Bilbo guessed that this must be a construction site, though all the machinery was long since cleared away. Beside them was a quarry large enough to fit an entire city block snugly inside, large rocks at the bottom of the pit looked tiny and indiscernible.

“Were we followed?” Thorin asked as he stepped out of the truck.

“Why?” Dain said, looking around his shoulder, “People followin ya?”

“Never can be too careful,” Thorin said.

“Ay, nothin like a dash of paranoia to keep your wits about ye,” Dain said.

Thorin grasped his shoulder and paused to look Dain in the eyes before he said, “Keep an eye out, please.”

“Course,” Dain said.

“Thank you, my friend,” Thorin said, “Come on, Bilbo. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Bilbo asked. He followed Thorin to the one of the larger steel roofed buildings.

“To take care of some business,” Thorin said.  


	52. ALOHOMORA

Gandalf hung up his phone.

“No answer,” Galadriel said. She did not phrase it as a question because it wasn’t one. It was sad to be to be proven right but by now she was resigned to it.

“Very well then, Thorin and his gardener have turned away from us,” Elrond said, “Our alliance shrinks.”

“You don’t know Bilbo,” Gandalf said.

“Precisely the point,” Elrond said, “Why would I hold out hope for a stranger on the other side of a conflict?”

“Because we need him,” Gandalf said, “Because he can help.”

“Not if we can’t reach him, _Mithrandir_ ,” Galadriel said.

“I believe in Bilbo,” Gandalf said.

*             *             *             *             *

Thorin hit a line of switches and after a few moments lights above began to flicker to life, revealing the room to them: rusted chains hung from the ceiling and weather beaten timecards were left mid-punch on a machine in the wall.  The ground was thick with dust undisturbed by footprints. There was a scuttling in the dark shadows and the wind outside, but nothing else moved, nothing else breathed.

“Well this is homey,” Bilbo said.

“Sorry,” Thorin said, “I meant to tidy up the place, but I lost track of time.”

“Was that an attempt at a joke?” Bilbo said.

“Don’t keel over from shock, we have work to do,” Thorin said.

“Right,” Bilbo said, “And what are we doing exactly.”

“We’re here to recover my company,” Thorin said, “If memory serves, it should be somewhere … around …”

Thorin stood in the middle of the cavernous room with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. His eyes darted behind the lids, searching for something that Bilbo couldn’t see. Thorin shifted his weight from foot to foot, then put one foot out experimentally and then another, as though stepping into a void and waiting to see if the floor would support his weight.  Then he jumped and the collision with the ground sent a reverberating hollow banging noise into the room.   

“HERE,” Thorin said.

“What?” Bilbo asked.

“This is the place, get me that ax,” Thorin said, his eyes on fire with a manic energy. There was an ax against the wall alongside a fire extinguisher and a fire hose. Bilbo brought it and Thorin gestured him to the side so he could get a clean swing. He brought it down with a mighty whack and the floor split open, splinters exploding out and in in one crunch.

“Shit!” Bilbo said, shielding his eyes.

“HWARGH” Thorin said as he continued to hack away at the floor. He worked in a frenzy of loud angry noise until there was a big enough hole for him to reach in with his hands and pull the boards apart himself and send them clattering to the side.   

Inside there was a large metal box and it opened to reveal a stack of papers in manilla folders. Thorin smiled wide as he pulled out an envelope from the bottom and opened it to slide a small USB stick on a white keychain. Thorin pulled out a small computer from his shoulder bag and connected the stick to the port on the side. When he accepted the device it opened to reveal a long list of folders with dates for names.

“Uh,” Bilbo said, unsure if he should say anything at all but Thorin didn’t seem to be in any hurry to explain the situation, “Should I … what’s that, exactly?”

“This is my Kingdom,” Thorin said.

With no more tangible explanation forthcoming Bilbo asked, “But … what is it?”

“Maps of the rock density in the mountains, labor union contracts,” Thorin said, flipping through the files and reveling in each new discovery, “Legal permissions from the Chamber of Commerce and the Environmental Protection Agency, statements from all of my partners.”

“But they all look like gobbledygook,” Bilbo said.

“They’re encrypted,” Thorin said, “You never keep the key with the lock.”

“So where is the key?” Bilbo asked.

“That’s what’s so brilliant about it,” Thorin laughed. But he didn’t get a chance to tell Bilbo what was so funny, there was a loud banging noise that shook the ground and turned out all the lights.


	53. SRS BSNS

Bard walked down the staircase feeling ... How did he feel? Nervous? Anxious? Bard knew he should probably feel some apprehension about what was to come, but none of those emotions could overcome the nearly unbearable lightness in his being. Every step was like coming off a cloud, the very air he breathed seemed elating and euphoric.

Bard stepped out onto the street and into the rising sunlight. For the briefest of moments he was overcome with a vibrant blast of pale yellow before his eyes adjusted and the rest of the world flooded back into focus, leaving an afterimage lingering on his irises. In the moments that followed involuntarily relived the events of the morning and he blushed; pale yellow was quickly becoming his favorite color.

 _Stop it, Bard_ , he thought, _There's no time for that_. One foot in front of the other, air comes in and out, always moving forward. Bard opened the door of his jeep and slipped inside.

The plan was simple: check in on the construction site and to make sure that Thorin wasn't up to something. Just a bit of light reconnaissance, nothing punishable in a court of law. Bard knew there were a lot of ways this could go south. Bard knew that getting more involved in this trouble was the last thing he or his family needed. But then he remembered the files of the people still recovering from the accident, the names of the people already lost, and the children left behind... some even younger than his own.

Bard turned the key in the ignition and made his way up the mountain.   

*             *             *             *             *

Dain didn’t know precisely when it happened, but somewhere down the line everyone went mad but himself. Thorin used to be the King of this Mountain, now he was lurking around his own property with some kind of ( _Was this Bilbo fellow a personal assistant? A notary?_ ) Thorin said Bilbo was a friend but he never said why he was there. No one bothers to explain themselves anymore. Thorin’s too paranoid to see the people he should trust right in front of him. That’s not like him, what’s gotten into him?

Dain was serving as “lookout” which is businessman-speak for “babysit the car.” Dain wasn’t complaining. You never hear him complain. Level-headed as they come, yessir. Even if Thorin was being annoying… and paranoid.

What was there to watch, anyway? Just a bunch of sodding trees and shrubberies.

“Only person for a hundred miles worth a damn in a fight and I’m sitting in the car, unbelievable,” Dain muttered.

Suddenly there was a crunch of gravel and the sound of an engine approaching the drive.

“Well I’ll be goddamned,” Dain said.

*             *             *             *             *

The roads leading up to the mountain were deserted, and Bard couldn’t see any tracks on the rock and asphalt. He would be going in blind and he had no idea what to expect.

Probably the first indication that there were people at the construction site was the silver Chevy blasting death metal at the front entrance. Another good indicator was an angry bearded man brandishing a shovel at Bard as soon as he pulled up.

“What the hell do ye think y’er doin up ‘ere, ‘eh?” the man yelled, “I’ll bash ye in I swear it!”

Bard recognized him, “Dain? What are YOU doing up here?”

“Ah, Bard,” Dain said, lowering his shovel and smiling, “Didn’t know it was you. How are the little ankle-biters?”

“Good,” Bard said, “Sigrid just made the Honor Society and Tilda is trying out for the Spelling Bee.”

“That’s so nice, they’re good kids,” Dain said, “What brings you up to my neck of the woods?”

“Have you seen Thorin?” Bard asked.

“Nay, what have ye heard?” Dain asked as he brought his shovel back up.

That was when the windows shattered and everyone started screaming.


	54. You Jump, I Jump

All around them windows shattered and men screamed.

“HIT THE DECK,” Thorin bellowed. Once they dropped down Thorin picked up the ax and propped himself over Bilbo’s prone form, “ **YOU WANT SOME, COME AND GET SOME MOTHER FUCKERS!** ”

A loud boom and then everything was pounding and ringing in Bilbo’s ears. He couldn’t hear himself screaming, even as he screamed louder and louder to try and make it stop. Thorin put a strong (somewhat dirty) hand over Bilbo’s mouth and from mere inches away Thorin pleaded with his eyes for Bilbo to keep quiet. Bilbo could see the little cross stitches of red in the whites of Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo shook his head and then Thorin released him.

Figures in black grabbed Thorin from behind. Bilbo was still too disoriented from the boom and the glaring absence of meaningful sound to follow what was happening. He could tell that they took Thorin’s ax away but he knew Thorin was still fighting, throwing punches and slamming men to the ground as soon as they ran up to him.

Bilbo stuck to the shadows; he knew how to pass unseen when he wished and that gave him a distinct advantage. He even tripped a few overeager attackers. The men were wearing tactical gear, like in those movies where they call in SWAT. They appeared to be wearing night vision goggles which explained why they were so certain of their movements in the dark. There must be a dozen of them, and no sooner was one thrown to the ground than two more went in for a coordinated maneuver. Thorin was running on fury, but that was a finite resource.

Bilbo had to do something. Had to think. Oh god.

Before he could think twice about it and convince himself it was a bad idea Bilbo ran to the front entrance and threw on the light switch. Bilbo kept running while he waited for the delay in the electricity to catch up, and didn’t stop running when the lights turned on. All around him men in black fitted gear recoiled in agony and ripped off their expensive night vision goggles. It would have been amusing to listen, but to Bilbo their exaggerated movements looked like a silent film.

Bilbo grabbed a hold of Thorin and ran, ran as fast as his already winded lungs would take him ( _Was he supposed to do cardio for this? He was supposed to be a HACKER!_ ) Thorin let himself be dragged, and did not stop until they got outside.

Dain was jumping up and down by the truck. He was probably yelling. Bilbo knew that Dain was their only hope. He had to get Thorin out of here.

Thorin was bleeding. His brow was swollen and he was bleeding.

“COME ON!” Bilbo tried to yell, but just like in a bad dream Bilbo couldn’t make any noise and Thorin didn’t register what he said. Bilbo shook him and pointed at the truck, but Thorin took a knee, breathing heavily.

“ _Please_ ,” Bilbo cried, more a prayer than a request. Their time was nearly up, that trick bought them seconds at the most.  Thorin looked at Bilbo and shook his head and mouthed **_GO_**.

Bilbo pulled Thorin’s hand pull but Thorin pulled right back and dragged Bilbo in. Thorin was always so much stronger, and now he had to be strong for both of them. Thorin whispered something in his ear, probably more for his own benefit than Bilbo’s because the words were lost on him. Bilbo felt something in his pocket and Thorin pushed him away so hard he was nearly sent flying.

When Bilbo turned around there were men surrounding Thorin. Bilbo ran as hard as he could for the truck, his eyes wet from a million different strands of pain fighting for top billing.


	55. Jinkies

When Bain was a little boy he would hide from his older sister Sigrid by getting into the smallest spaces he could find: behind the sofa, under the towels in the linen closet, in between the coats hanging by the front door. Sigrid, tired of looking for him, would abandon their game and leave her brother in his hiding places until he fell asleep. It became something of a compulsion for him; Bain would hide whenever he got upset.

One morning Bain wasn’t in his bed when Bard opened the door to wake him up, and everyone panicked and turned the house upside down looking for him. They found him in the garage, hiding in the backseat of the family car sleeping off a bad dream in a place where he could lock the doors so the monsters couldn’t reach him. Bard would never forget how small his son looked huddled in the backseat of the car with his Scooby Doo pajamas and his hair all askew, and he would certainly never forget the way that Bain had clung to him when he gently picked him up out of the backseat to carry him back inside – the wayward son returned.

“Are they gone, papa?” Bain had whispered.

“Are who gone?” Bard asked.

“The monsters,” Bain said.

“You’ll always be safe when I’m around,” Bard had whispered.

 This isn’t the kind of promise a parent can really keep, but Bain was a child and the words were what he needed. Bard, for his part, meant them.

*             *             *             *             *

Bard followed Dain, trying not to lose sight of his tail lights even as Dain swerved on winding mountain roads without so much as a guard rail between the road and ravines that sank hundreds of feet deep. As soon as that man in the red coat jumped into Dain’s car they had been driving like bats out of hell as fast as they could away from the construction site.

With no turn signal and no deceleration Dain swerved and drove into a wooded area and Bard nearly hit a tree trying to follow him. When they were surrounded by trees so thick they couldn’t see or hear the traffic from the street Dain stopped his truck and Bard stopped next to him.

“What the hell is going on!?” Bard asked.

“Not the time!” Dain shouted.

A small curly haired man ran out of screaming out of the back of the silver truck, getting about 40-50ft before he tripped over a root and Dain caught up and tackled him. The man didn’t exactly calm down after he was pinned, and he struggled as hard as he could. Dain yelled at him over the commotion, “Would ye just BREATHE for a minute, you’ll give yourself a heart attack!”

The man continued to struggle and Bard walked up so that he could sit beside him. When Bard was sure he had the man’s eye he held a finger over his mouth to make a ‘shhhhhh’ gesture. The man stilled.

“How’d the blazes ye do that?” Dain asked, “He hasn’t stopped screaming since he got in the car!”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Bard said.

“He … ay, yes, that would do it,” Dain said, “Bard, this is Bilbo. When he’s feeling more like himself I’ll introduce him to ye properly.”

Dain gingerly eased off of Bilbo and helped him to his feet. It was only when he was certain that Bilbo wouldn’t bolt that he released his grip around his wrists. Bilbo still looked distraught, but he was considerably calmer.

“We gotta get him safe,” Dain said, “They’ll be us, bet on it.”

“Police?” Bard asked.

“No,” Dain said, “You insane?”

“Does he have any friends?” Bard asked.

“He doesn’t need friends,” Dain said, “Where he needs to go right now is the last place anyone would look for him.”

“I think I know just the place,” Bard said, and spared a look a Bilbo, “He’s not gonna like it.”


	56. Mom's Spaghetti

The room is dark and Thorin’s head is spinning. He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready. All around him there are voices and the shuffling of feet. His ears stopped ringing about an hour ago but they still won’t tell him what they want and they still won’t turn on the lights.

“We’re obviously waiting for someone,” Thorin said.

“Quiet,” said a man.

Thorin didn’t recognize the voice, but Thorin recognized authority when he heard it. This wasn’t the voice of a man in charge; this was the voice of a placeholder who waited until the big dogs could come in and claim their share. Just a charming little Beta Dog.

“Make me,” Thorin said.

“You want to eat your teeth, punk?” said another voice in the darkness. Threats issued, but no violence given. All talk and no right to act: Hello, Omega Dog.

“Look, as much as I love sitting here and talking to you fine people I can’t help but feel that this is a waste of all our time,” Thorin said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want? If you get something out of me before the big man gets here you’ll probably get a bonus.”

“Like we’d trust you,” Omega said.

“Shut up, Barry,” Beta snapped, he paused before walking closer to Thorin to ask, “What do you _think_ we want?”

“Well, you grabbed me on my old worksite,” Thorin said, “Not too big of a reach to think it has something to do with my company.”

“You don’t have a company,” Beta said, “None of this belongs to you. You’re Chapter 11, you’re nothing, you’re a joke.”

“Well, _you’re_ a bunch of thugs who took me down when I was cornered and outnumbered. No one believes in fair fights anymore,” Thorin sighed, “You know, I used to hire guys like you back in the day. Probably would have had you digging ditches or hauling lumber. There’s always a place for people who can work hard in my book.”

“I would never work for scum like you,” Beta said.

“You balk now,” Thorin said, “But you would have liked it, we had full dental coverage. Guy who gets in fights as often as you needs good dental. What was it that you said, you’d make me ‘ _eat my teeth’_?”

There was a silence and then Barry the Omega asked, “FULL dental?”

Thorin smiled. He had them.

“Barry I swear to God,” Beta said, “One more word out of you and I will send you straight to the dentist myself.”

“Leanne just got braces,” Barry the Omega said.

“That’s it,” Beta said.

Thorin couldn’t see the what ensued, but he heard a lot of grappling and slapping as Beta and Omega Barry tried to get fight each other in the dark. The other men revealed their relative location in the room by shouting, ‘ _Get him!_ ’ and ‘ _Kick his ass, Barry!_ ’ Thorin estimated at least six men were in the room and all of them were preoccupied.

Thorin tried to shuffle his chair over to where he imagined the wall to be. Maybe there would be a tool he could use or a sharp corner. Anything.

Thorin made it about 6 inches when the lights turned on. Beta and Omega Barry were revealed to be in headlocks though Thorin couldn’t tell which was which, both looked ashamed and stood at attention when they saw the person in the doorway. That was when Thorin heard a familiar voice.

“ _Children_ ,” the voice said venomously, “ _Do I have to do everything myself_?”

Oh God Dammit.


	57. This Charming Man

Arwen was nervous about the return of her boss after the tumultuous events that transpired when last they saw each other, but Thranduil hadn’t even mentioned it. In fact, as soon as he walked in the door he greeted Arwen genially and even acknowledged Glorfindel ( _a first - as far as Arwen knew_ ). Maybe the hammer would fall, but for now they were too busy to notice: Thranduil saw a string of high profile clients without breaking stride from the morning and into the afternoon while Arwen and Glorfindel raced around the office preparing meeting rooms, loading presentations on computers, and filling carafes with coffee and tea.

During lunch break the leader of an international disaster relief organization (an organization that Arwen spent the past year writing her **_thesis_** about) asked Arwen about Thranduil’s operation. Arwen managed to get her tongue un-star-struck long enough to reasonably explain the broader context of what the company did, as well as what Arwen did for them. Arwen was even more flummoxed when the woman proceeded to ask Arwen about her schooling, her experience, and her ambitions. The woman gave Arwen her card and then returned to the presentation. It wasn’t until later that Arwen realized Thranduil had been listening.

After the meeting was over Arwen was collecting empty wax paper cups filled with dark dregs and plastic spoons when Thranduil appeared at her elbow.

“I see that you spoke with Dr. Lúthien,” Thranduil said.

Arwen swallowed a lump in her throat, “Yes sir, she …”

“You did well, Arwen,” Thranduil said, “You are an asset to this company and we are lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arwen said, her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see her smiling.

“But perhaps there is more Dr. Lúthien can teach you now,” Thranduil sighed, “If you were interested in such a change, of course.”

“Sir?” Arwen asked.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Thranduil said, “She was very impressed with you, and she has a great eye for talent. I should have seen this coming, you’re very much alike.”

“Did she offer me a job?” Arwen asked.

“She inquired about your future prospects,” Thranduil said, staring her directly in the eyes and holding the gaze, “If she has you on her radar then you best put her on yours. I expect you to go home tonight and rewrite your resume and cover letter according to their specifications. If an opening in her organization appears … I could see about getting you an interview.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Arwen bit her lip, “Do you really think I could make it?”

“Obviously,” Thranduil laughed, “Don’t ask silly questions. Go help Glorfindel with the photocopier before he hurts himself.”

“Okay,” Arwen said, grabbing her dishes and running out the door.

“And Arwen?” Thranduil said.

“Yes sir?” Arwen asked.

“If you need a letter of recommendation you only need to ask,” Thranduil said.

Arwen stood in the doorway, unable to process the size of her dreams or her gratitude. She felt her eyes growing hot and she didn’t know if she could make it out of there in time to hide the emotions welling up inside. Thranduil nodded and bid her onward with a sweep of his hand, and Arwen spent the next several minutes doing a happy dance in an empty stairwell.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil was enjoying the calm after the storm of the day’s activity. It had been arduous but rewarding. There may even be a new place for Arwen out there, even if it would be a pain in the ass to replace her … Perhaps Legolas would finally be up for the task? In any case, after a long procession of handshaking and dealmaking Thranduil was happy to turn his phone back on and check for messages. There were several, Thranduil checked the first message:

**Bard: the mountain was raided**

“Sir,” Glorfindel said, knocking from outside Thranduil’s door.

“Yes?” Thranduil asked as he read the second message:

**Bard: i’m coming to your office.**

“There’s someone here to see you,” Glorfindel said.

“Yeah, I bet there is,” Thranduil said.

“No, but sir, you’re not going to believe this,” Glorfindel said.

“Try me,” Thranduil said. He read the third message:

**Bard: i know how you’re going to be, but please try not to freak out about this.**

Now Thranduil was alarmed. Why did Bard feel the need to be so cautious and conciliatory? What the hell was going on here?

“Sir?” Glorfindel said.

“Bring them in,” Thranduil said.

*             *             *             *             *

The blond intern opened the door and Bard stepped into Thranduil’s office. Thranduil looked visibly relieved when he saw Bard, but Bard’s mouth was locked in a terse line as he dragged along the second person into the room – a short man with curly hair who was wearing a velvet burgundy coat.

There was a silence. A long silence. The kind of silence that holds entire Charlie Chaplin films.

Then Thranduil spoke, rather matter of fact, “If I am not mistaken, this is the man who broke into my network right under the nose of my interns.” 

Twenty feet away Glorfindel shuddered in shame, Bard smirked.

“Yesh,” Bilbo said, standing stock still, “Sorry about that.”

“Then why are you here?” Thranduil asked, though he looked past Bilbo and up to Bard as he said it.

“I came,” Bilbo said, fishing into his coat pocket for a small trinket. He pulled out a flash drive and set it on the Thranduil’s desk, “To give you this. The only reason Thorin was at the Mountain was to grab this, it has all the information about Thorin’s company: all of his contracts and all of his contacts.”

“The king’s jewel,” Thranduil said, his eyes wide with infinite possibility. Bard walked to join him, the wheels in both of their minds turning.

“And worth a king’s ransom,” Bard turned his gaze to Bilbo, “How is this yours to give?”

“After Thorin retrieved this he was attacked,” Bilbo shuddered, “He gave this to me for safe keeping.”

“And now you give it to us?” Bard asked, “You owe us nothing, there is no loyalty between us.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” Bilbo said, “I know he can be obstinate, pig-headed, and difficult … and suspicious, and secretive, and he has TERRIBLE table manners, but … he is also brave and kind and … he’s my friend. I would protect him if I can. His captors want this more than anything else. If you give it to them they will let him go.”

Bard and Thranduil regarded each other for a moment in a glance so intimate that Bilbo suddenly felt like the third wheel all over again. Bilbo felt suddenly very lonely, and he wondered if he had made the right choice, or if _anyone_ in this town could help him save Thorin.


	58. Whither Wander You?

_Hurry Up and Wait_ , that was the order of the day.

Galadriel, Gandalf, and Elrond were on a mission to determine Smaug’s whereabouts. They talked with State Troopers, hotel reservationists, and even the local gossips but no one offered anything concrete. Word travels fast but no one had seen him first hand. Finally they visited with the ferry runners to cross-reference the comings and goings, but the ledgers only recorded number of passengers not the names. The ferrymen could look up credit card information but it would take a few days.

“I want to speak to your boss,” Galadriel said.

“He isn’t in,” the young man behind the desk said.

“Then call him in,” Galadriel said.

“If he isn’t here then he won’t have the answers you seek,” Gandalf said, “No matter, Smaug probably flew in, anyway.”

“What?” Galadriel said.

“I always fly when I can,” Gandalf said, “Wouldn’t you? The roads are narrow and long, flying is much better when you have the means- and he certainly has.”

“But I don’t know who else to call,” Galadriel said.

“If he flew in there will be a record of it, and passenger manifests _will_ include names,” Elrond said, “I’ll look into it. I have friends who might be able to give me the information, even if just to confirm that he wasn’t on the list.”

“Be careful,” Galadriel said.

 

But that was hours ago. The sun was rising into the sky, sending down unseasonable heat that stuck Galadriel’s hair to her brow. Despite the heat she stayed close to Gandalf’s side, needing his closeness now more than ever. He was obviously worried; his eyes flitted back to the Mountain whenever he grew silent with thought. Galadriel stroked his arm and his smile was as warm for her as it ever was: _Mithrandir, my dearest friend_.

Galadriel’s phone began to ring. She looked the screen and a familiar smug blond face smiled back at her. Galadriel scowled as she swiped right to answer, “What do you want?”

“There has been a development up in the mountains,” Thranduil said, “Thorin and Bilbo went up there today and -”

“Thorin?” Gandalf asked, for he overhead what was said and could not contain his concern when a friend’s name was mentioned, “What’s happened?”

“You’re still going on about Thorin?” Galadriel asked Thranduil, “When will you drop your old grudges? I don’t have time to listen to this.”

“Ask what’s happened to Bilbo,” Gandalf asked. Galadriel raised her brow at him, but she could see his sincerity in his eyes.

“Well then, what has happened to Bilbo Baggins?” Galadriel said.

“Mr. Baggins is safe,” Thranduil said, “He is here with us, and he told us that - ”

“Who is _us_?” Galadriel asked, “Who have you dragged into your vendetta, now? You haven’t called the police, have you?”

“I am entirely within my rights to call the police!” Thranduil said, all of his patience evaporating, “Why are you diminishing this before you’ve even heard what I have to tell you!?”

“Fools,” Gandalf grumbled, pulling the pipe out of his mouth, “Put Bilbo on the phone.”

“I can handle this,” Galadriel said.

“I know you can,” Gandalf said, “Just let me talk to Bilbo, please.”

Galadriel reluctantly handed him the phone, and on the other end Thranduil handed the phone to Bilbo.­

*                *                *                *                *

The lights were on, it only made things worse. Horrible things should happen in the dark, not exposed in the light of day when you are unable to do anything about them. Impotence is so much worse than ignorance.

Smaug talked to his hired thugs: Beta, Omega Barry, and the rest. They were so much smaller than Thorin had imagined during the fight, just a bunch of police academy rejects with bruised knuckles and bad attitudes. None of them could be older than 30, an age which seemed so young to Thorin now. When he was 30 he still worked for his father, but time changes everything.

The men took their orders and scattered. Fare thee well, Barry, I hardly knew ye.

Smaug grabbed a chair and sat directly in front of Thorin, his legs spread wide. He reached into his breast packet and lit a cigarette. The smoke blew in Thorin’s face. Thorin breathed it in, he refused to cough.

“What do you want?” Thorin asked.

“What do any of us want,” Smaug laughed, “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of fossil fuel.”

“You can’t be serious,” Thorin said.

“You know the lay of the land better than anyone,” Smaug said, “You know the riches these mountains hold. Coal, deep as even the most advanced drills can reach, limitless potential. You were a fool to ignore it then, and you’re a fool for not listening to reason now.”

“What about the people who live here?” Thorin said.

“Don’t pretend to care about them,” Smaug laughed, “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

“You know nothing about me,” Thorin said, “You know nothing about this town.”

*                *                *                *                *

“Bilbo?” Gandalf asked.

“He’s in trouble, Gandalf,” Bilbo said, “We have to help him, please help, please.”

“Of course,” Gandalf said, “Just tell me what happened.”

And so Bilbo told him: about the mission and the prize, about the raid and the beating, about the message he didn’t hear, about the rescue that was too late for Thorin, and about the way it felt to be torn away and not be able to help.

“Stay with Thranduil, we’re coming to get you,” Gandalf said.

Gandalf hung up the phone and Galadriel looked to him.

“It’s so much worse than we imagined,” Gandalf said, “We have to go now.”


	59. Bad Blood

Thranduil and Bard looked over a computer screen at the gobbledygook of the encrypted whatsits. They asked Bilbo for the code but he didn’t know what to tell them. Thorin made it sound so obvious, but Bilbo just wasn’t clever enough to know what he meant.

Thranduil and Bard turned their attention back to the computer screen.

Bilbo found a little nook that turned out to be the employee break room, and he sat down at the kitchen table. It felt natural to sit there: kitchens are where you nourish your body and gather your loved ones close. Bilbo didn’t know if his heart or his stomach drew him there, he just knew he felt empty.

There was a knock at the door and Bilbo turned to see the young woman who chased him out of the building just the day before. Bilbo’s throat felt like he had just swallowed a fire hydrant.

“Can I get you anything?” Arwen asked, she looked at Bilbo thoughtfully and said, “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

Bilbo nodded and Arwen walked to the kitchen counter.

“So,” Arwen said. She set down a steaming mug in front of Bilbo and then took a seat next to him with a mug of her own. She blew on over the top of the mug with practiced calm, “You caused quite a stir around here, Mr. Baggins.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo sighed, “I was afraid I’d gotten you fired.”

“Not fired,” Arwen said, taking a sip from her drink, “I may be moving on soon regardless. Things are changing so quickly.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bilbo laughed, relaxed enough to take a sip from his own. It was a mixture of herbal and citrus flavors.

“Do you work for Thorin?” Arwen asked.

“Work for him?” Bilbo said, “No, I mean, yes. I’m … I’m not here as part of the Oaken Shield Company, I’m here as his friend.”

“Thorin doesn’t have a lot of friends around here,” Arwen said.

“That much I guessed,” Bilbo said.

“You mean you don’t know?” Arwen asked, setting her cup aside.

“Know what?” Bilbo asked.

“Thorin’s company,” Arwen said, “The accident.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Bilbo said.

“A lot of people died, Mr. Baggins,” Arwen said, “Didn’t you wonder why he was chased out of town?”

“He never,” Bilbo bit his tongue, not sure if he should believe what she said or if he even wanted to know, “How many?”

“Almost sixty people died,” Arwen said, “Buried under the mountain in a landslide of equipment and ash after a mechanical failure caused an explosion. It took weeks to dig everyone out and identify the bodies. They had to use dental records for most of them. The entire town went into mourning.” 

“That’s terrible,” Bilbo said.

“I don’t understand why he would come back, I assumed that he knew something we didn’t,” Arwen said, “they never did determine what set off the spark, ‘mechanical failure’ sounds as likely as anything. Did he … mention anything to you, anything at all?”

“Thorin plays things close to the chest,” Bilbo said, with every revelation Bilbo came to realize just how little he had known Thorin in the first place.

“Look, about yesterday - thanks for saying sorry,” Arwen said, patting his hand, “You didn’t have to, but it means a lot.”

Bilbo nodded and she left him in his silence to finish his tea.


	60. You're Excused

Galadriel swore that she had never stepped foot inside Thranduil’s place of business, but she must have memorized the buildings location years ago in order to keep her promise because she knew exactly where to find it. From the moment the car stopped in the parking lot Gandalf was out the door, hustling to the front entrance in a flash of grey.

“Gandalf, wait!” Galadriel said, hurrying to unbuckle and follow him. He was already gone.

*                *                *                *                *

Gandalf made it to the front door where a lovely young woman in red stood waiting for him.

 “You must be Gandalf,” Arwen said, holding out a hand to shake, “My name’s Arwen, let me show you up to our office.”

“Very well then,” Gandalf said, shaking her hand like it was a squirrel in the jaws of a Rottweiler, “Lead on.”

“Follow me,” Arwen said. She pulled back her arm and led him through the front door and into the lobby. They walked past Glorfindel who was talking on the phone with his brows crinkled in visible frustration, but his features morphed into a friendly smile when he saw Arwen.

“He should be just through here,” Arwen said, leading past the offices to the break room.

“Gandalf!” Galadriel ran up to them wearing 5-inch heels without so much as losing her breath, “Would it have done any harm to wait for me? Oh, hello Arwen.”

“Lady Galadriel,” Arwen said, throwing her arms up and running forward to embrace her. Galadriel held Arwen close and Arwen said, “I heard you were in town, when were you planning on telling me?”

“My sweet child,” Galadriel laughed, “I’ve been dealing with the most _obnoxious_ people the past few days, I wish I had spent them with you, instead!”

“I do miss you, you know. I always do,” Arwen asked, “Where’s daddy?”

“He’s doing the legwork for once,” Galadriel said, and they both laughed.

“What’s going on out here?” Thranduil walked out of his office. He saw Arwen and Galadriel first. Thranduil contorted his face into a pleasant visage because despite how messy things between he and Galadriel may be at the moment - Arwen adored the woman.

“Good to see you Galadriel, and Gandalf as well,” Thranduil said, “Make your selves at home.”

“Thank you,” Galadriel said.

“Where is Bilbo, I really must speak with him,” Gandalf said, “Oh, Bard. What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Gandalf,” Bard said.

Thranduil turned and Bard stood in the office doorway, likewise roused by the commotion outside the door. Thranduil followed the track of Galadriel’s eyes as she assessed the distance between the two men; he could practically feel her making connections and drawing her own conclusions.

“You know, we tried to talk with the ferry runners today. We had pertinent questions to ask,” Galadriel said coolly, “But the management was indisposed.” 

Bard took a step back as he began to explain himself, and Thranduil felt the slight as intimately as if Galadriel had slapped him all over again. Galadriel was usually right when she tried to put Thranduil in his place, but Thranduil decided right then and there that Bard’s place was none of Galadriel’s Goddamned Business.

Thranduil stepped back and interlaced his fingers with Bard’s, and he turned to speak to Galadriel, “As pertinent as your inquiries may have been, Bard was a little busy saving Mr. Baggins. I’m sure he has time to answer all your questions now though.”

“Thank you,” Gandalf said. He wasn’t talking to Thranduil.

“You’re welcome,” Bard said, and then he pointed down the hall, “He’s just through there.”

Gandalf left, and in his wake there was a standoff that proved unbearable. Galadriel was about to defend herself when Arwen interrupted:

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Arwen asked Galadriel. She didn’t wait for a response before she dragged her into an empty office and closed the door behind them.


	61. It Is the East

“What’s gotten into you?” Galadriel pulled back her arm from the young woman whom she had never known to be so presumptuous or forceful in the past. Arwen held up a finger to whisper _shhhhh,_ and Galadriel reluctantly obliged.Arwen peaked out the office window and turned back to face Galadriel.

“Go on then,” Galadriel whispered.

“Thranduil and Bard are … involved,” Arwen said.

“I know that,” Galadriel whispered harshly. Arwen looked back at her skeptically, “Well I know that **_now_**.”

“Then why would you speak against Bard, when your words could not have hurt Thranduil more?”

“Thranduil?” Galadriel giggled, “Since when was he in the habit of caring for anyone over himself?”

“Thranduil is proud, that does not make him cold,” Arwen said.

“Does it not?” Galadriel said, “I’ve known Thranduil much longer than you have, my estimations of him have been tested many times.”

“What about Legolas?” Arwen said.

“Family is different,” Galadriel said, “That’s real.”

“Real?” Arwen said, “And what makes something real, then? Are you allowed to feel for someone as though they were a part of you only if you share blood, only if you wear each other’s ring?”

“Is it that serious?” Galadriel asked.

“In my time here I have seen Thranduil dismiss the affections of many hopeful ladies, and gentlemen,” Arwen said, “None of them were interesting or promising enough to claim his admiration. But Bard? Thranduil looks at him like he’s the sun. You don’t try to dim the sunlight in a person’s world.”

“No,” Galadriel paused, “No, you don’t.”

“Thranduil has done so much for me, so much more than was expected, and with such kindness and good will,” Arwen said, “Do you really think him blind to others? Completely unfeeling?”

Galadriel softened, “Any kindness given to you was earned tenfold I am certain.”

“Kindness is a gift you bestow on others, it is not something you earn.”

“Sweet child,” Galadriel held Arwen close, “Thranduil is very a lucky man, to know you.”

“Thanks,” Arwen said, “One more thing?”

“Anything, child,” Galadriel said.

“What’s the deal with Gandalf?” Arwen asked, “Are you two …?”

“Let’s go check on Bilbo,” Galadriel said.


	62. Subtle and Quick to Anger

Gandalf found Bilbo Baggins in the otherwise empty break room kitchen. Bilbo was having a staring contest with a mug of tea that looked to be ice cold.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said, “Hello old friend, sorry I’m late.”

“I thought you were never late,” Bilbo said.

“That’s exactly right,” Gandalf laughed, and Bilbo smiled with him, “Now tell me: What do you think we should do?”

“Why are you asking me?” Bilbo said, “Shouldn’t you ask Galadriel?”

“Never ask women for advice,” Gandalf said, “For they will say both yes and no.”

 “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Gandalf sat down next to Bilbo and rested a hand on his shoulder, “That I care what YOU think we should do.”

“Arwen told me about the accident,” Bilbo said, “She told me so many horrible things.”

“Many horrible things did happen,” Gandalf said, “What are your thoughts on them?”

“I don’t know how to think about them,” Bilbo said, “One death is too much to fully understand, to lose so many in such a violent sweeping blaze… One person is too small to hold that much loss inside them.”

“I never thought you were small,” Gandalf said.

“I don’t believe it,” Bilbo said.

“What?” Gandalf said.

“I don’t believe Thorin would let that happen,” Bilbo said, “I don’t care what Arwen said; I don’t care what Thranduil believes. Thorin is too stubborn to let the gears that spin around him out of his control. If the world crumbles around him it would only be because he willed it.”

“What do you propose?” Gandalf asked.

“We find Thorin,” Bilbo said, “We rescue him, and we exonerate him.”

Gandalf laughed.

“What?” Bilbo said.

“You never cease to surprise me, is all,” Gandalf said, still chuckling.

*                *                *                *                *

Bard and Thranduil stood by the door to the break room, both of them looking as though they were trying very hard to appear that they weren’t eaves dropping. They were interrupted from the ruse by the return of the ladies.

“Well,” Galadriel said, “Bard, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bard said.

“I’m sorry I did not introduce myself properly before,” Galadriel said, holding out her hand, “My name is Galadriel.”

“Lovely to meet you, ma’am,” Bard said, shaking her hand with a genuine smile. (Arwen noted with satisfaction that Thranduil likewise smiled approvingly.)

“So, you have the drive with Oaken Shield files?” Galadriel asked, “I assume they’re encrypted, any luck cracking into them?”

“No,” Thranduil said.

“Mr. Baggins intended for us to trade it,” Bard said, “He came to us in good faith, we should honor his intentions.”

“Smaug is too dangerous as he is,” Thranduil said, “We cannot arm him with even more leverage to accomplish his aims. Nothing less than the entire town is at stake.”

“I don’t think that Mr. Baggins cares about the town,” Arwen said, “He cares about Thorin.”

“That’s precisely why he shouldn’t be the person who makes this decision,” Galadriel said.

“Or maybe it’s the reason why he is the person who should,” Bard said, “Would anyone else in this town risk everything to save his life? When did we decide that a man’s life has less value than another’s?”

“I’m done arguing about this,” Thrandruil pushed open the door to the break room: it was empty, nothing was left but an empty cup in the sink that smelled faintly of tea.


	63. Monsters

“Fuck you,” Thorin said.

“I don’t know why I bother talking to you,” Smaug stomped a spent cigarette beneath his foot, “You always say precisely what I expect you to say. It’s boring. You’re boring me.”

Thorin glared. Smaug smirked and lit another cigarette.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Smaug laughed, “Did you think that the people of this town would let you return to business as usual? They want nothing to do with you, you’re poison.”

“You’re the one who wants to destroy the town!” Thorin screamed.

“I’m almost tempted to let you succeed, just to watch you fail all over again,” Smaug said.

“I won’t fail,” Thorin said.

“Yes you will,” Smaug said, “You always will, because you’re not willing to do what it takes to win.”

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to this town!” Thorin said, “I can make this town great again!”

“Let me explain something to you, Thorin Durin,” Smaug said, blowing another line of smoke in Thorin’s face. Thorin couldn’t help it, he coughed, “If a businessman threatens my interests I don’t waste money in court: No, I find out what kind of car he drives. It’s so easy to provide that information to desperate people, people willing to act on their worst impulses. You don’t have to kill anyone, really, just let them kill each other.”

“ _Court_ … are you talking about Thranduil?” Thorin asked. The memory of the night of their first meeting sprang into his mind: the mystery, the malice, the danger hanging in the air like smoke, “But he’s alive.”

“Sadly, yes. The wrong person was in the car,” Smaug said, “Still, I believe he was sufficiently distracted- he didn’t come after you anymore, did he?”  

“Who was in the car?” Thorin asked.

“Excuse me?” Smaug asked, “Collateral damage, it’s not important.”

“Thranduil has a son,” Thorin said, “I know he had a son.”

“No, that’s not it. I would have remembered if it was a child,” Smaug thought, taking a long draw from his cigarette before remembering, “It was his wife. Yes, don’t you remember her pretty little face? It was all over the news.”

“You’re a MONSTER,” Thorin spat.

“Oh please,” Smaug said, “It’s not like I killed her. It was just another _accident._ ”

“Accident?” Thorin asked, “What about the accident?”

“Nothing is an accident, you silly little fool,” Smaug said, “Simple-minded people wait for providence, I make my own destiny. After all those months of trying to reach out to you, trying to get you to see things from my perspective … I lost patience. I forced your hand. Change the calibration of a machine and the entire house of cards comes tumbling down, so sad.”

“The accident?” Thorin asked, “The accident on the job site, the explosion, the landslide?”

“Guilty!” Smaug smiled.

“People DIED!” Thorin said.

“Son, hasn’t anyone ever told you how to make an omelet?” Smaug said.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” Smaug said, stomping out another spent cigarette, “I can’t let you live now. I’ve already sent signal to the men, you’re going to have a little accident of your own.”

“You wouldn’t,” Thorin said, “You can’t.”

“I can already _see_ the papers tomorrow morning,” Smaug said, walking to the front door where the men were already waiting, “The unexpected fire at the job site, the firefighters who worked all night to contain the flames, and the disgraced CEO found at the scene who died in the fire before paramedics could reach him. Compelling stuff: the journalist who gets the byline will probably win an award.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” Thorin said, “People know you’re in town, you’ll never get your hands on this mountain.”

Smaug turned back and walked to Thorin’s side. He leaned low and whispered in his ear:

“I didn’t want to kill you, you know,” Smaug said, “I wanted this to be clean. It’s going to take much longer to deal with the arson investigators and the insurance companies, but if I have to wait another decade to claim my prize so be it. _I always get what I want, in the end_.”

Thorin turned and spat right in his face.

Smaug pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his face. Then he pulled his arm back and punched Thorin so hard across the side of his face that it knocked him over in his chair, and Thorin was unconscious before he hit the ground.


	64. The Color of Dis Bear

Gandalf called Dain, and the silver Chevy drove up to where they were standing in the parking lot within minutes.

“I’ve been waiting on ye all day,” Dain said, revving his engine and speeding onto the streets in the direction of the mountain, “I wanted to go back for him but I needed to make sure you were okay. Thorin would have wanted me to keep ye safe.”

“Already the past tense?” Gandalf asked, “I never knew you to give up so easily.”

“No,” Dain said, “I never give up, not on Thorin.”

In the back seat Bilbo was silent.

As they raced forward Dain said, “What if they moved him?”

Gandalf huffed, “Then we won’t know until we get there.”

Dain looked around at the cars as if they were being watched, “What if we’re falling into a trap?”

“Has Thorin’s paranoia rubbed off on you?” Gandalf asked.

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” Dain said, “They did come after Thorin, after all.”

Bilbo looked up toward the mountain, which was glowing red with dark smoke wafting up into the sky, “I think there’s definitely something going on up on the mountain.” 

*                *                *                *                *

Thorin was in the rubble of the accident. All around him was the wreckage of the old worksite, twisted metal and endless rubble. Black charred bodies moaned, orphaned children wept, and protestors circled the scene chanting endless hateful slogans: _Murderer, Murderer, Murderer!_

A familiar dream.

Thorin reached out to one of his men in the wreckage, to a long time employee whom Thorin considered a friend and the first body identified in the wake of the accident. The force of the explosion killed the man instantly, but most of his injuries were internal. He looked so peaceful on the autopsy table, like he was just sleeping.

The body awoke under Thorin’s fingertips, “THORIN!” he said, “THORIN, YOU HAVE TO RUN!”

“It’s too late,” Thorin said, “I’m so sorry.”

 _Murderer, Murderer, Murderer!_ The chanting continued _, Monster, Monster, Monster!_

“It’s not too late, you have to live!” the man said.

“What are you talking about?” Thorin said.

The dream was changing, the fires grew around them and the heat intensified until he could barely breath. Towering above them was a dragon ten stories high with glowing yellow eyes and a wingspan longer than a football field. It's voice boomed, “ **I am FIRE, I am DEATH!** ”

*                *                *                *                *

When they reached the worksite the entire area was in flames. Smoke billowed out of windows and metal screamed like it was being consumed by a living wrathful monster. The doors to the front entrance were still open and glowing with heat.

As they approached the building they found a man in dark clothing passed out on the ground; an empty bottle of fuel lay next to him. Gandalf immediately went to his side.

“He’s still breathing,” Gandalf said, “Bilbo, help me.”

“Thorin could still be inside,” Bilbo said, “We have to check.”

“Bilbo, no,” Gandalf said, “Don’t be a fool.”

“I have to know,” Bilbo said, and he rushed inside.

Dain made to follow but a current of heated air blew him to the ground and stole his breath away.

“Help me please,” Gandalf said, leaning over the unconscious man, “We can’t leave him here.”

“But Bilbo,” Dain coughed.

“He’s made his choice,” Gandalf said, “Focus on the lives you _can_ save.”

Dain bit his lip and helped Gandalf drag the man away the flames. Behind them the building groaned in heat and disaster, every second ticking away the narrow margin that they would ever see their friend alive again.

*                *                *                *                *

“Thorin, THORIN!” Bilbo shouted from behind his handkerchief. The air burned in his throat and the heat and smoke were making him dizzy. He kept his head down and tried one last time, “Thorin! Let me hear you, please!”

That was when, in the din of the fire all around him Bilbo heard the rhythmic clanging of metal against concrete- someone was calling for help. 


	65. The Blood of Angry Men

“Well now what,” Bard said.

“They’ll be at the mountain,” Thranduil sighed.

“ _Gandalf_ ,” Galadriel said, “We must go.”

“We’re going to the mountain?” Arwen asked.

“You’re not going,” Thranduil said.

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Arwen asked.

“Yes I am,” Thranduil said, “I am entrusting you to keep this place safe while I am away; after what happened yesterday I think you should respect the seriousness of what I ask.”

“Please don’t fight this, child,” Galadriel said, “Let me rest easy that in all of this at least one dear soul is safe.”

“Only if you promise to come back safe, as well,” Arwen said.

“You have my word,” Galadriel said, embracing her hard. Behind them Glorfindel stood awkwardly.

*                *                *                *                *

Galadriel drove like a devil on a daypass from Hell, tearing through the streets honking her way through traffic. She roared out of every ending red light with a squeal of burning rubber. Bard shook with fear and a hint of nausea, meanwhile these antics seemed old hat to Thranduil and he pressed a reassuring hand to Bard’s.

“ _She’s mad, but she’s a damn fine driver_ ,” Thranduil whispered.

“I heard that,” Galadriel said.

“ _And she has excellent hearing_ ,” Thranduil whispered. Bard smiled, but then Galadriel crossed a double yellow line to pass a yellow VW Beetle. The car jilted from the force of it and Galadriel laid the horn long and loud as they passed. Bard clutched the door handle for balance and Thranduil glared up at Galadriel’s eyes in the rearview mirror as if to say, ‘ _Was that really necessary?_ ’

Galadriel answered by flooring the gas pedal and they shot away into the night.

*                *                *                *                *

Flames and smoke rose up, ash rained down, and the air was filled with a clamor like metal being pulverized. The front gate was open and they drove through it. There they saw the silver Chevy abandoned, one door open and the cabin lights still on, and they walked past it with unspoken questions. There, by the entrance of the main building Gandalf was huddled over a prone figure, alternating CPR with Dain, both of them winded and desperate.

“Gandalf!” Bard shouted, running to them the fastest, “What happened!”

“We found this young man out here,” Gandalf said, “Bilbo ran inside to look for Thorin!”

“Thorin’s inside?” Bard asked.

“We don’t know!” Dain gasped, sweating pouring from his brow, “Bilbo just ran in anyway!”

“How long has he been!?” Bard asked, as the building roared and quaked, “Gandalf, how long has it been!?”

“I don’t know,” Gandalf said, “I think he’s in trouble!”

Thranduil ran up and said, “What the hell is going on?!”

“Bilbo is inside,” Bard said, “I’m going after him!”

“No you’re fucking not!” Thranduil crossed in front of Bard and planted his feet.

“Move, Thranduil,” Bard said.

“You have children!” Thranduil said.

“You think I don’t know that!?” Bard yelled, “I’m not arguing this with you! Lives are at stake, stand aside!”

Thranduil stepped aside and Bard strode past him to the gaping maw of the inferno. Behind him Thranduil called out one last time,

“Don’t,” Thranduil said, “ _Please_.”

“I’m coming back,” Bard said, and then he walked into flames.


	66. Make a Dragon Wanna Retire, Man

Waking up was agony. The air was sucked away from his lungs by hungry flames surrounding him on all sides with ungodly heat. It felt like he was being cooked. He tried to move, but the chair was firm and the metal was hot. His body contracted with shock and pain.

“Thorin!”

Thorin squinted his eyes: coughing, gasping, and then coughing more. _Who was that, was he still dreaming?_

“Thorin, let me hear you, please!”

Thorin smiled at his luck to find a happy voice among all the rest that might haunt him here. _Wait. Bilbo?_ Bilbo shouldn’t be here. This isn’t the place for gardeners. Bilbo should be planting that goddamn acorn and sitting in the sunshine and … being safe and happy! What brought Bilbo here? Thorin had to do something, get him out of here.

Thorin tried to call out but words failed, his throat was a pincushion and there was no shortage of needles. He tried to bang his feet but his shoes muffled the noise. He tried getting up, the metal frame of the chair clanged in defeat as he hit the ground.

Wait a minute.

Thorin did it again, and again, clanging against the ground like a church bell. Bilbo walked closer, he’d heard him. No, no, Bilbo was walking deeper into the building; he should be getting away from this place where it was safe, _fly, you fool_.

“Thorin,” Bilbo coughed, “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Bilbo tried to untie Thorin but it was no use, the knots were too strong and too many. Then he tried to drag Thorin, but the weight was too much, and the scraping caused Thorin to find his voice at last as he screamed in uncontainable pain.

“Thorin,” Bilbo tugged at the ropes, “We’ve got to go!”

*                *                *                *                *

 _Too hot, Goddamn_ , Bard thought as he dragged his shirt over his mouth and stooped low to breathe.

The room wasn’t very large but it was easy to get confused with the heat and the debris that crashed all around. Ten seconds passed, twenty, Bard began to wonder in the back of his mind if he’d be able to find the front door again. Thirty. Bard began looking in the debris on the ground, wondering if he would find a person or a body.

 _Dammit, Bilbo_ , Bard thought, and then he burned his fingers on a metal beam nestled in the embers, _DAMMIT THORIN_.

The search was going nowhere, and Bard was about to turn back when he heard a scream.

_Oh no._

Bard ran to the source of the noise and found Bilbo fighting against ropes tying Thorin to a chair on the ground. Bilbo looked panicked but happy to see him, but Thorin just looked tired.

“Get out of here, Bilbo!” Bard yelled. Bilbo looked confused by that, but Bard grabbed him and shoved him in the direction of the door, “Go!”

Thorin looked up at Bard and nodded. Then once Bilbo was gone Thorin laid his head down as if he were ready to fall asleep.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bard said, “We’re getting you out of here.”

 Bard leaned down and picked Thorin up, holding him under his arm like a battering ram and trying to realign his center of gravity as he moved forward. One step. Two steps. Three.

Thorin was shaking, coughing, and Bard couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. Four steps. Five.

Bard made it twelve steps before he started getting light headed, and he made it to twenty before he lost count. He couldn’t … remember where the door was … couldn’t …. Which way did he come in?

Bard started counting his steps again. One more step. And another. And two more.

His arms ached and his flesh felt raw. He could barely see.

Bard set Thorin down and kneeled to catch his breath. His heart pounded and his muscles shook.

It was just a moment, just had to breathe, just a moment, just a

*                *                *                *                *

“It’s been too long,” Thranduil said, “Something’s wrong.”

Galadriel was bringing the man on the ground back to consciousness, whispering soothing words and easing water down his parched throat. Gandalf knelt beside her as he talked on the phone with emergency services, but his eyes kept darting back to the fire where three men were still missing.

“We have to get them,” Thranduil said. Dain stood by his side, and for once there was no anger between them, their concern was so great that it overruled everything else.

Suddenly Bilbo came out of the door, shaking and coughing.

Dain rushed to his side, “Bilbo! Bilbo, are you all right!”

Bilbo shook his head and pointed over his shoulder, back to the building.

“Hold him!” Dain said, and before Thranduil could argue he was left holding Bilbo while Dain rushed into the fire. Thranduil thought idly that the man, who was rather short, smelled like smoke. Thranduil patted his back awkwardly, and Bilbo continued to cough. Thranduil didn’t have to wait long before Dain came back out hauling a dark mass in his arms like a load of logs for a campfire.

“Bard!” Thranduil said.

“Thorin!” Dain shouted, immediately laying the man down on the ground and tending to the ropes binding him.

Thranduil set Bilbo on the ground and rushed to Dain, “Where’s Bard!”

“I didn’t see him, help me!” Dain said. Thorin didn’t look like he was breathing, and Dain struggled at the ropes all the harder.

“Where is BARD!” Thranduil asked again. Dain didn’t answer, just kept fighting at the knots. Thranduil pulled a knife from his back pocket and sliced the ropes in one jagged pull. Thorin, thus freed, gasped for breath, and Dain fell over him with praises and oaths, rushing to help free any ropes that lingered.

Thranduil put the knife back in it’s sheath and ran to the building but a small explosion of fire and hot air blocked the door, and all reasonable hope of going back in the building was lost. 


	67. Sillage

Thranduil watched the building burn. Large warped sheets from the tin roof collapsed and staunched the flow of oxygen to the fire. The building deconstructed into disparate parts before his very eyes: roof falling, windows bursting, walls crumbling. The fire burned less violently now, and soon it would burn itself out.

Then the cavalry arrived.

EMS workers arrived and tended to those most in need of assistance. They strapped Thorin to a gurney. Thorin was breathing again and his vitals were promising but he still hadn’t regained consciousness. Bilbo was determined to ride along in the ambulance, and he made up some kind of story about being the next of kin. So they came, and so they went. One ambulance for Thorin, and one ambulance for the man they found outside the building.

Gandalf answered all of the questions the policemen asked, Galadriel stayed by his side to verify his testimony (Dain had high-tailed it long before the police showed up, said something about priors).

Thranduil knew better than to play into the officer’s questions. He minimized his involvement for the sake of simplicity: _I arrived after the fire was set, I didn’t see anyone on the scene, I have nothing to add._

Then the firemen approached and Thranduil was ready to listen.

“Well,” Thranduil said, “What have you found?”

Over the past hour the men contained and suppressed the fire until the burning building was reduced to a smoldering heap. It was much quieter now. Men picked over the debris with shovels and crowbars: investigating, searching.

“Nothing yet,” the man said, and Thranduil grimaced, “Doesn’t mean we won’t find anything.”

“Thank you for all your help,” Thranduil said, and he walked into the darkness of the trees.

*                *                *                *                *

When Legolas was a boy he had trouble adjusting to school in the wake of his mother’s death: he was solemn, withdrawn, and he lost a lot of friends.That was when Legolas picked up soccer. It was an easy game to practice at home; all he needed was a little free space and a ball.

What’s nice about soccer is that it’s an excuse to get outside. Thranduil had a difficult time leaving the house for the first few months. He found it difficult to do a lot of things: it was hard to get out of bed, it was hard to face his wife’s presence in every item in their home, and it was hard to answer Legolas’s questions. Galadriel called it _Major Depression_ and lectured him about his responsibilities and anchored his guilt with more guilt.

Watching Legolas play soccer was easy. Legolas was so happy when he played, and so watching him on the field was the only thing that made Thranduil feel like a good father. Legolas still had soccer. Soccer was something. Thranduil didn’t care about his own weaknesses when he could see that Legolas was strong.

Thranduil thought about Bain, and Sigrid, and Tilda. _Who would be there for them now? How could it ever compare to the love their father gave them?_

Against his own will Thranduil thought about Bard scooping vegetables onto his children’s plates. He thought about Bard defending his son, both of their sons, with assurance and love. He thought about his little girls who were assertive enough to play with the boys, and win.

Thranduil leaned against a tree and whispered, “ _What the fuck am I supposed to do now?_ ”


	68. The Black Spot

Thorin's eyes fluttered open and shut during the drive to the hospital. The EMT said it was probably just random, likely a response to being jostled around in traffic, but Bilbo watched anyway. Thorin was a different man from the one who met Bilbo back in the Shire: his face was swollen with bruises, his skin was red and chafed from the heat, there was blood in his hair, and dirt all over his clothes.

Once they reached the hospital an entirely new circus began: meeting new doctors, transferring gurneys, identification of injuries, cleaning and treating of wounds, IVs for fluids and medicine, and exam after exam to look for brain injury. It took hours before Thorin was left alone long enough for Bilbo to sit with him, and he still wasn’t talking. 

Bilbo drank coffee served from a large and ancient vending machine in the lobby, trying to let the stale taste clear his palate from the overwhelming medical smell of lemon Pledge. It was past 1 in the morning before Thorin spoke,

"Uhhhhhh," Thorin moaned, "My everything hurts."

"Thorin," Bilbo laughed, "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right," Thorin coughed, "Are you hurt?"

"Me?" Bilbo asked, "You're the one covered in bandages, you look like a mummy."

"You walked into a fire," Thorin glared.

"I walked into a fire to look for you!" Bilbo said, exasperated.

"Well, seeing as neither of us are dead ... thank you," Thorin said, "And thank Bard for me, too."

Bilbo bit his lip, "Bard, he didn't make it out."

"Of course he made it out, he's the one who dragged my ass out of the fire."

"No, Dain brought you out," Bilbo said, "Bard never made it out of the building."

"No, he," Thorin squirmed and tried to move, but his IV tugged at his arms and his bandages muffled every sensation. Bilbo grabbed his hand and Thorin stilled, pausing before he asked, "Why would he do that? Why didn't he get out while he still could?"

"I don't know," Bilbo said, "We were hoping you could tell us. Dain didn't see him at all."

"Nonsense, he was with me," Thorin said, "He was right there."

"I don't know Thorin," Bilbo said. 

“Listen,” Thorin said, “We haven’t heard the last from Smaug."

“Thorin, you’re in the hospital and a good man is dead,” Bilbo asked, “Why should we waste our time thinking about him right now? What else could he possibly want?"

“What did you do with my flash drive?” Thorin asked. 

“What?” Bilbo.

“The flash drive, what did you do with it?” Thorin asked. 

“I … I didn’t hear what you wanted me to do with it so I gave it to someone to keep it safe,” Bilbo said quickly.

“What I wanted to do with it?” Thorin asked, “When did I tell you to do something with it?"

“After the fight, before I ran away with Dain and … Bard,” Bilbo said, the name was hard to say suddenly, “You told me something before I left but I couldn’t hear anything. My ears were ringing from that grenade."

“I wasn’t talking about the flash drive,” Thorin said.

“You weren’t?” Bilbo asked, “What did you say, you had to know I couldn’t hear you."

“It’s not important,” Thorin said, “Who has the flash drive?”

Bilbo sighed, “Thranduil.”

“Son of a bitch,” Thorin said. Bilbo winced, knowing he had picked wrong, but desperate times…

“We need to call him right now,” Thorin said.

“We’ll call him in the morning,” Bilbo said, “Please rest.”

Thorin kept trying to get up but Bilbo fought him back down, and Thorin shoved him away, “That information is what Smaug wants, he knows we have it and he will stop at nothing to get it. That flash drive is a death warrant for any man who holds it.”

Bilbo felt like his stomach was filled with ice, “I’ll call Gandalf right now, Gandalf will know what to do.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, grabbing his hand before he could dial, “This isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

Bilbo looked down at his dear friend lying in a hospital bed, and thought of one man gone and another in mortal peril- it was hard not to feel responsible. Still, he took solace in those well-intended words, because he needed them, and called Gandalf.

*                *                *                *                *

Thranduil wandered the woods in silence, refusing to think about anything other than the ground beneath his feet and the stars above his head. It was a beautiful night, considering. He knew that he couldn’t stay out here forever. Soon his friends would look for him. The stars would fade and the sun would rise, wretched tomorrow.

He found himself in an unfamiliar path far from the lights of the buildings and the cars. A cold wind passed through the trees, or maybe it was just dread. Thranduil turned to look for the path, and something stirred in the shadows.

“Gandalf?” Thranduil asked. How long had he been gone, surely they would be looking for him by now. A twig snapped and then silence; no friend hides in darkness. Thranduil straightened, “What do you want?”

Another twig snapped, Thranduil turned to see who it was but then a hand snuck around his mouth and muffled his scream. They shoved a rag in his mouth and tied it tightly around his head, then twisted back his arms with military precision and fastened them with zip-ties. It happened too quickly to put up a fight or to see his attackers, then they pulled a black bag over his head and everything was darkness.


	69. Illuminated Vacancy Signs

Everything was dark.

How long he had been in this place, tied up, waiting? It felt like hours, and in those hours several eternities pressed in on him, until he had crossed the universe and landed a world entirely different from his own.

His shoulders ached from lying in a prone position. Unfamiliar voices buzzed around him, but they gave no clue as to where he might be or what they might want. His cheek rested against concrete, it was cold here. He suspected that they were still in the mountains.

And he was alive - there must be hope in that. 

Something must have happened because the energy in the people around him spiked suddenly. Rooms away he could hear doors slamming and people barking orders, the shuffling of people approaching. So he held his breath, and waited. 

“Put him in here with the other one,” a man said, “No one says a word to them until we have orders.”

“What are we waiting for?” a man said.

“Don’t ask questions,” another man said.

Someone was thrown down next to him, perhaps two feet away. The men in charge walked away until the room was filled with their absence, and then he heard the door shut behind them.

Who was this person, then? Minutes passed but they didn't speak. Undoubtedly they were bound and gagged as well, so they wouldn’t be much for conversation. He thrust his knees into the ground to shove himself forward and the newcomer stiffened at the sound. He rested his head against the other man’s shoulder to show solidarity.

That was when he smelled it, for as long as he lived he would recognize that smell anywhere: hazelnut.

*                *                *                *                *

Thranduil lay on the floor in a dark and unfamiliar place. By what his captors said Thranduil knew that he was not alone, but for once he would have preferred it. If Thranduil was never going to leave this place alive the least they could do was grant him a little bit of privacy.

The other person in the room pushed their body toward his, and then they put their head on his shoulder. Then they made a muffled exclamation. They nudged Thranduil repeatedly in the shoulder and Thranduil turned to say, “What?” but it came out more like, “MWWWMH.”

Then Thranduil heard the other man start humming. It was an achingly familiar melody, an old folk song with words about travelers and dreamers that probably owed its origins to Paul McCartney or Bob Dylan … Thranduil turned back around. _Could it, could it possibly be?_

The man moved closer and pressed his head against Thranduil’s chest, against his beating heart. Thranduil knew -without words, without sight, without any logical reason to believe- Thranduil knew that it was true: Bard was alive.

*                *                *                *                *

Bard rested against Thranduil, wondering how he could be so lucky when he had resigned himself to thinking that they would never see each other ever again. The last thing he remembered was fire, then darkness, and now that Bard couldn’t keep his promise to come back Thranduil had found him somehow.

*                *                *                *                *

Thranduil cursed the bonds that kept him from moving as he wished to move and holding the man he wished to hold. Until now Thranduil had not dared to admit the unacceptable reality that Bard was gone, even as he watched the building burn he couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about how much he would miss him, because he needed him so dearly. Only now, with the reassurance of Bard’s presence, could Thranduil face his horror. Thranduil felt the warm presence of his man, this small mortal thing so easily broken, and knew he needed him even more than he could have imagined before. How is it that love makes us so hopeful and hopeless?

Thranduil turned away so he could reach into his pocket. The men who captured him were more focused on incapacitating him than frisking him, and by being compliant he was largely ignored. Now that they were alone this was perhaps the last best chance to use this advantage.

Thranduil nudged Bard with the handle of his knife, and Bard turned around to grip the blade with his hands. The note of surprised approval in his voice when he realized what Thranduil had done was priceless. Thranduil heard Bard begin to chisel at the zip-ties on his wrists when suddenly the door to the room opened again, and they both stilled and turned to face it.


	70. WHEN I SAY HILLSHIRE

“Well then, what are our orders?”

Six men enter the room but they defer to one man in charge- the only man among them who has heard the orders pass directly the boss’s lips. The men are tired, and scared about what happens next. They all smell like smoke.

“They’re to be interrogated separately.”

“Which one first?”

“Ladies first.”

The group shares a laugh over this as two men grab the man with blond hair by his elbows and lift him painfully upward until he was in a standing position. The man with brown hair man is left on the ground, moaning and kicking in protest as the men clatter noisily out of the room.

“Wait your turn,” the leader laughs as he closes the door.

*                *                *                *                *

The men take blonde man to another room down the hall and remove his zip-ties, gag, and blindfold. The room is plain, featureless, and windowless. The only light comes from a single bulb overhead. The men leave the room but set up guard stations outside: two men watching the man with blond hair, two men watching the man with brown hair, and two men seeking orders.

Until tonight they never met the boss. They were drafted by strangers, communicated with exclusively by text, and paid by direct deposit. Now the name had a face and a voice, and now he was walking down the hall.

“Thranduil is in this room?”

The men standing guard stammer, never having heard his voice before.

“The BLOND ONE, is he IN THIS ROOM?”

“Yes sir!”

“Get out of my way.”

The men open the door and stand aside. Inside the room Thranduil pauses from pacing and looks up at the door. The boss walks inside and closes the door behind him.

Now they wait.

*                *                *                *                *

They don’t wait very long. The boss walked back out in less than ten minutes. When he walked out of the room the light was off.

“Lock this,” the boss said.

The men leapt into action at his words, and looked to him for further instruction.

“Where is Bard?” the boss said.

The guards looked to each other and down at their hand radios, wondering if they should call for the prisoner or bring the boss to him.

“The one with BROWN HAIR,” the boss said, exasperated, “Get out of my way.”

The boss shoved them aside and they followed in his wake. They found the room closed but unguarded. The men tried their radios, silent all the long hours since they separated the prisoners, but nothing answered them on the other end. The boss opened the door, and instead of one prisoner there were two – the guards who were supposed to be watching the brown haired man. They were on the floor bound with interwoven zip-ties, and they had long since abandoned struggle for sleep.

“FOOLS!” the boss screamed, knocking back his men as he stormed out of the room.

The men decided not to follow him just yet and to untie their comrades instead.  


	71. Foul Things Come Forth

Bard heard a clicking noise as all the lights in the compound went out. The men Smaug hired would be wearing night vision goggles and they would depend on that advantage in darkness. What they hadn’t factored into their equation was that Bard already knew about the night vision goggles. Bard knew about the night vision goggles because he had stolen two pair off the guards he ambushed several hours earlier.

Smaug’s men began to sneak around the hallways as quietly as possible, but they wouldn’t find Bard because he wasn’t in anywhere to be found. They walked by his hiding place three times and never even thought to look for him there – because he had never actually left the room.

Bard followed close behind the men on their third pass, joining their ranks. Neither of them turned to look at the new man beside them, because the thing about night vision goggles that they don’t tell you in the movies? They don’t do shit for peripheral vision.

*                *                *                *                *

Two men guarded the prisoner, two men were incapacitated, and the last two men walked the in tight formation searching for the prisoner who escaped. Admittedly the search wasn’t going well.

“This is bullshit.”

“Not now.”

“No, this some bullshit and I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Who the hell are you planning to sneak up on when you’re making so much noise, huh?” And then there was silence: finally … _huh, not like him to give up so easy._

“Allen?”

*                *                *                *                *

Two men guarded the prisoner. It had been a long time since they heard from the search party but they had orders not to abandon their post. One looked to the other and they decided to perform a strategic withdrawal: meaning that they opened the door to the prisoner’s room and went inside and locked the door behind them.

“So you’re all that’s left?” the prisoner said, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, you aren’t safe in here either.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being picked off one by one. That’s not an escape tactic, that’s personal,” the prisoner said, “You push a man too hard: he can snap, and that’s when he is the most dangerous.”

“So the man after us is angry.”

“Yes. Very, very angry,” the prisoner said, “Your boss is a bad man. He threatened to kill me you know. I don’t begrudge you for that, though.”

“No?”

“No,” the prisoner sighed, “I know it’s nothing personal, you probably helped him do much worse than that in the past.”

“Right, nothing personal.”

“That doesn’t bother me, no. But that wasn’t all,” the prisoner said, “He also threatened to kill my son.”

“Look, we didn’t know anything about that, please tell your friend out there that we never meant to hurt anybody.”

“That’s your mistake,” the prisoner said, “It’s not the man out there that you need to worry about.”


	72. Full Metal Jacket

Clattering, screaming, the sound of bullets exploding out of a gun. Then silence.

_Oh no._

Bard ran down the hall as fast as he could, rushing to the place where he heard the commotion. It was quiet as the grave when he felt the wall beneath his fingertips turn into a doorframe, and Bard found the knob and turned it in his hand. Locked. Bard took the keys from his belt (borrowed from his new friends - the guards) and shoved his way into the room.

Bard’s fingers found the light switch and in the middle of the wreckage in the room Thranduil stood.

Thranduil was breathing heavily over the groaning bodies of two guards. Thranduil was holding a handgun at the ready, his aim sure. His eyes were red rimmed and desperate, angry and intense. But once Thranduil saw Bard he clicked the safety on and slid the gun across the table out of reach. Thranduil walked to the doorway to meet Bard and stepped on both guards as he went. The men coughed and made strained curses.

Thranduil didn’t stop until he was in Bard’s arms. He folded in against him, shaking.

“Are you okay?” Bard asked.

“ _I thought you were dead,_ ” Thranduil whispered, “ _Don’t you ever, don’t you dare, never again_.”

“Never again, I promise,” Bard said, pulling Thranduil away to look at him, “You’re bleeding.”

There was a gash in his cheek and his left eye was dark and swollen. Blood was dripping down onto his collar. Bard reached up to examine his wounds but Thranduil hissed away.

“This asshole had the brilliant idea to fire a gun in a closed metal room,” Thranduil said, kicking the man behind him who groaned in pain, “You’re lucky I didn’t unload the rest of the magazine into your kneecaps.”

“Are you going to kill us?” the other guard asked.

“ _ **Shut up**_ ,” Thranduil said, “You’re going to jail.”

Bard tied the men up with zip-ties. Bard was careful to search them for any more weapons, but was perhaps a little over zealous with how tightly he secured their bonds. The man with an empty holster on his hip winced as his wrist-ties cut into his skin. Bard glared at him, daring him to say something in response.

“Let’s find a phone,” Thranduil said. His body propped against the door, and his head was hung low, “I want to go home.”

Bard smiled, it felt tight against his tired face, “Yeah, let’s go.”

The lights kicked on in the hallways and the rest of the building and they both squinted against the light, when Bard looked up again Thranduil was in a chokehold from behind. Only one other person was left in this compound to put up a fight: Smaug.

“Put down the weapon,” Smaug said, jostling Thranduil for emphasis. Thranduil sputtered, his feet lifted off the floor. Bard dropped the gun on the floor and kicked it to the side. Smaug looked between them and laughed, “You two are together, then? I should have known, always good to know a pressure spot.”

Smaug looked back at Bard, eyeing him until Bard's hands were at his sides.

“Such a shame, I was willing to let him live,” Smaug tightened his grip and he watched as Thranduil gasped for breath, “But you’ve been a pain in my side for long enough. The game ends here.”

Thranduil twisted his face toward Smaug, looked into his menacing smile, and spit a mouth full of blood right in his eyes. Smaug roared in protest, and Thranduil dropped out of his hold gasping, “ _ **Now!**_ ”

Smaug pulled out a gun from inside his jacket and brandished it blindly, but Bard was quicker and threw the knife from his back pocket straight into Smaug’s chest. Smaug dropped the gun and fell to his knees, hacking and gasping and coughing. He reached for the knife in his chest even as his fingers shook from the pain of it.

“Don’t,” Bard said, “You keep it in and you might live long enough to see an ambulance.”

Smaug collapsed from his knees to the ground, and Thranduil stood over him smiling. When he spoke Thranduil’s voice was a raw whisper, “ _You’ve failed, Smaug. Thorin Durin lives_.”

“Not possible,” Smaug gasped.

“Believe it, bitch,” Thranduil said, then he reached into Smaug’s pockets until he found a cell phone. He tossed it to Bard, who caught it and punched in 911.


	73. Testify

Bard had a hell of a time explaining the situation to the authorities: six men in restraints and one in critical condition was alarming enough, and it was complicated further by the fact that Bard was technically a missing person. How he would explain where the knife in Smaug’s chest came from Bard had no idea, but the bastard was still breathing, for now.

“Just bring ambulances,” Bard said, “Lots of ambulances.”

Thranduil sat on the ground propped against the wall. Bard settled down next to him.

“Are you okay?” Bard asked. Thranduil nodded.

Bard felt a rattle in Thranduil’s breathing. Bard brought two fingers to the well beneath Thranduil’s jaw and counted the beating of his heart. Bard leaned kissed him lightly on his uninjured cheek.

“ _Elevated_ ,” Bard whispered, “ _You might want to get that looked at_.”

“ _I have no interest in getting that fixed_ ,” Thranduil said.

Thranduil lowered himself down until he was settled on Bard’s lap. Bard began stroking his hair without thinking, and finally, finally, Thranduil’s breathing returned to normal.

“Bard?”

“Yes?”

“As soon as Thorin is out of the hospital, remind me to kick his ass,”

*                *                *                *                *

Soon they heard sirens. Bard rose and helped Thranduil to his feet, the two of them walked to see how Smaug was doing: he was wan and pale, but still conscious. The guards nearby looked up at them.

“Barry’s dead, isn’t he?” one of the men said, his eyes were pressed close with resignation.

“Who’s Barry?” Bard asked.

“I lost track of Barry at the fire, I haven’t … none of us have seen him since,” the man said, it was clear now how young he was, barely any older than Legolas or Arwen, “He was my cousin. I brought him on this job because he needed the money. He didn’t deserve this, it was all my fault.”

“Our friends found a man at the fire,” Thranduil said, “They were able to resuscitate him, they got him to a hospital. He’s going to be okay.”

“They did?” the man asked.

They didn’t have time to answer because the police came in, followed shortly after by the medical workers. Smaug was taken away in short order, and the long confusing ordeal to sort out the mess began.

“Whose knife was that?” an officer asked.

“That’s my knife,” Thranduil said, wincing as a paramedic cleaned his wounds with antiseptic, “I carry it on my person for self defense.”

“We’ll check the registration and the prints on this gun,” the officer said, pointing to the gun found next to Smaug when the officer arrived, “But did anyone witness the event who could record a statement?”

The guards were tied up in a row along the front wall, being frisked by officers as they spoke. One of the guards lifted their hand:

“I did,” the young man said, “I saw the whole thing.”


	74. Lonely Barricade

After the fire was under control Thranduil went missing. Galadriel had no idea when this happened; they hadn’t even seen him leave. Galadriel called Thranduil’s cell phone over and over but it went straight to voicemail. They asked the firemen where he was but they hadn’t seen him in close to an hour. Galadriel called Dain but he told them that he had left long before the police arrived and Thranduil wasn’t with him. They still had no idea what became of Bard.

The police began to search the woods, and Gandalf called in a favor: the local rescue service helicopters to swept through the area with high powered lights, looking for signs of either missing man. The search went on into the small hours of the morning with no trace found.

Then there was no one left to call but Legolas.

“Legolas, heard from your father in the last few hours?”

“I haven’t talk to him since this morning, why?” Legolas asked, his voice slow from sleep.

“We … don’t know where he is,” Galadriel said, “We have people looking for him but I was hoping that he might have called you.”

“What’s happened?” Legolas asked, awareness flooding into his tone.

“It’s a long story,” Galadriel said.

“You’re talking about my father,” Legolas said, “I have a right to know.”

“We’re coming to your apartment,” Galadriel said, “I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

*          *          *          *          *

Galadriel sat at the kitchen table, drinking chamomile and every few minutes she spared a glance away from the cell phone laying dormant on the table in front of her to look back at Gandalf, who slept soundly on the couch. It was nearly morning, she should have joined him, but Galadriel couldn’t abandon her post.

Legolas sat next to her, twitching at the noise of every passing car and constantly rechecking his own phone for messages that might have escaped his notice.

“Is Thorin okay?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” Galadriel said, “He’s in the hospital but the doctors have good reason to hope he’ll recover.”

“Good,” Legolas said. His words were flat. He looked straight ahead.

“Legolas, is something wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” Legolas said, “I know you were really worried about Thorin, so it’s good that he’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not here for him, I’m here for you,” Galadriel said.

“I don’t need you here, I need my father back.”

Galadriel rested her head in her hands, “I’m sorry Legolas, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“But they’re still gone,” Legolas said, “We may never get them back.”

“We don’t know that,” Galadriel said.

“You can’t tell me everything is going to be okay,” Legolas said, “I’m not a child.”

They sat in silence for a long time.

 

 


	75. Miles To Go Before I Sleep

“All right,” the officer said, “You can go home.”

“I’m not going to jail?” Bard asked.

“This is textbook self defense,” the officer said, “We haven’t finished our investigation but I don’t have grounds to charge you with anything.”

“What did the guards say?” Bard asked.

The officer laughed, a deep guttural laugh like he just heard the funniest joke in the world, “I can’t tell you that!”

“Sorry,” Bard said, “Those guys have good reason to hate us.”

“Do you _want_ me to arrest you?” the officer laughed again, “Look, they’re a lot more preoccupied explaining what THEY were doing here than trying to throw you under the bus. And I don’t think they hate you as much as you think.”

“So I can just … go?” Bard asked.

“Don’t leave town,” the officer said, suddenly stern, “But yes, get some sleep, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Bard said.

“I’ll have a buddy of mine give you a ride,” the officer said, “Daniels is at the end of his shift anyway. Give him your address and he’ll get you sorted out.”

*          *          *          *          *

Bard leaned against the wall and waited. A short while later man in uniform walked up to Bard.

“You’re Mr. Bowman?” the man said, and Bard nodded. The man hitched his radio to his belt and motioned for Bard to follow him, “Come on then, you’re with me.”

“Okay,” Bard said, “But I need to find Thranduil first.”

“That blond guy? They took him to the hospital twenty minutes ago, sorry,” Officer Daniels said. He kept walking to his car, and Bard had to hurry to keep pace.

“What?” Bard asked, “Why? Is he okay?”

“Strictly for observation, nothing to worry about,” Daniels said, “It’s protocol in strangulation cases, he should be able to check out tomorrow.”

“Take me to the hospital,” Bard said.

“No can do. You wouldn’t be able to see him anyway,” Daniels said, “Go home and get some sleep.”

*          *          *          *          *

The ride passed interminably slowly. Bard wasn’t in the mood for talking so Officer Daniels put on a really weird call-in radio show where the hosts talked too close the microphone and callers told stories that were way too intimate to broadcast over the radio. Bard tried to tune it out and concentrate on the sky above where he could still the fading stars. The corners of his vision were getting fuzzy and his mouth was so dry it tasted like cotton.

Officer Daniels woke Bard up when they reached his building, shaking his shoulder where he fell asleep against the car window.

“Hey there,” Officer Daniels smiled, “You need a hand?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bard said, as he clambered disjointedly out of the car and up to the sidewalk. Officer Daniels didn’t drive away until Bard was safely in the building.

Bard had to knock on the door to be let in to his apartment. His keys were lost, along with his phone, his wallet, and his favorite jacket that was so burned it had been thrown in the garbage. When the door opened it was Tilda who stood before him.

“Papa?” Tilda said, still in her pajamas, “Where were you last night?”

Bard couldn’t answer her, all he could hear was her voice: so sweet and small and … so grounded in everything normal in his life that he had so nearly been torn away from him, and he from them.

“Tilda,” Bard said, “Come here, sweet heart.”

He bent on one knee and she ran into his arms, giggling as he squeezed her tight.

“You smell really bad, Papa,” Tilda said.

“I bet I do,” Bard laughed, “Listen, go wake up your sister and your brother. I need you all to get dressed and ready to go, okay?”

“Where are we going?” Tilda asked.

“We need to take Legolas to see his dad,” Bard said, “Mr Thranduil had to stay at the hospital tonight.”

“Is he okay?” Tilda asked.

“He’s going to be fine,” Bard said, “Now hurry, okay.”

“Yes, papa!” Tilda said, and then she ran loudly down the hall to bang on doors and rally the troops.

*          *          *          *          *

Bard washed his face and as the water dried he realized how much his flesh still stung from the damage done by the fire. Looking up he grimaced at the redness: he looked like he spent 10 solid hours in the sun. He wouldn’t be shaving today, that was for sure.

He pulled his hair into a bun and changed clothes, certain that the stained and torn garments in his hamper would meet the same fate as his once-favorite jacket.

He came into the kitchen and brewed coffee while he waited for the kids to trickle in. Tilda came out first.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Bard asked.

“Can we have eggs?” Tilda said.

“Of course,” Bard said.

Bard made the eggs and Tilda made the toast. Sigrid came out yawning she poured a cup of coffee from the pot for herself.

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Bard asked.

“Everyone drinks coffee,” Sigrid said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t,” Tilda said.

“You better not,” Sigrid said, “It’ll stunt your growth, squirt.”

“Hey! I’m not short!” Tilda said.

“Be nice to your sister,” Bard said.

“Sorry,” Sigrid said.

“I’m _not_ short,” Tilda fumed.

“Eggs!” Bain said, walking into the kitchen and sitting down to a place at the table. Bard scooped a big helping of eggs onto his plate, “What happened last night, papa?”

Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda all looked up at him expectantly.

“Uhhhhh,” Bard said, “A lot actually. Legolas’s father and I tried to stop something bad from happening on the mountain, but we just got in the middle of it. Thranduil is in the hospital and I want you guys to come with me so we can take Legolas to go see him.”

“Of course!” Bain said. Sigrid and Tilda nodded.

*          *          *          *          *

After they finished breakfast and they were getting ready to go out the door Sigrid pulled Bard aside, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Bard said.

“I mean it. You don’t look like you slept all night,” Sigrid said, “You don’t have to lie to protect me, I’m still going to worry anyway.”

“Maybe I’m not okay,” Bard sighed and rubbed his hands across his tired eyes, “But I will be, thanks.”

Sigrid hugged him, tight, “I love you, papa.”

“I love you, too,” Bard said.


	76. Need to Know

The sun came up and the phone didn’t ring. It felt like that settled matters- what little hope Legolas held onto expired. Legolas left Galadriel in the kitchen and went to his bedroom, Tauriel at his heels. He closed the door and waited.

Legolas heard Galadriel waking Gandalf up and tell him softly that they should go now, Legolas wanted to be left alone. Gandalf knocked at his door, but Legolas just waited for him to give up and go away. Eventually he did.

Eventually they both left. And Legolas was alone.

*          *          *          *          *

Legolas was lifted from a light sleep by a knocking on the door. His brain jumped to several possibilities at once: _Galadriel and Gandalf again, policemen with some kind of news- could his father have come back so soon?_

Legolas ran to the door and when he pulled the door open he saw that Bard and his kids were standing there. Legolas hugged him as hard as he could.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Legolas said.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Bard said, though mostly he was just surprised that Legolas was glad to see him.

“Come on, LG,” Bain said, “We’re gonna go see your dad!”

“He’s … he’s all right?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” Bard said, “A little worse for wear but he’s going to be just fine.”

“And we can see him?” Legolas asked, “I can see him?”

“There’s no one else he’d rather see,” Bard said, “That’s why we stopped to pick you up first.”

“Thank you,” Legolas said hugging him again, “Thank you for bringing him home.”

*          *          *          *          *

Sigrid drove. She wasn’t very experienced at driving yet but she had the keys and Bard was there to provide instruction.

“Let up off the brake,” Bain said, “You’re givin us whiplash back here.”

“Come up here and say that!” Sigrid said.

“Maybe I will,” Bain said.

“Keep your seatbelt on,” Bard said, “Sigrid, you’re doing great, okay? Just … maybe just a _little_ lighter on the brakes?”

Sigrid nodded and tried to step lightly. They pulled into the parking spot at the hospital parking lot and all of them breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Right in the middle of the lines,” Tilda said, “Nice!”

“Thank you, Tilda,” Sigrid said, glaring at Bain, “At least _someone_ appreciates me.”

*          *          *          *          *

When they got to the front desk they were directed to the wing they needed to go to, but visiting hours wouldn’t start for another couple of hours. The kids settled in to wait but Bard had a word with the doctor and convinced him that Legolas wouldn’t be any trouble so long as he could just see his dad and see that he was okay. The doctor brought Legolas behind the big metal doors and Legolas nodded his thanks.

*          *          *          *          *

The blinds were closed and the lights were dimmed. The sun might be rising but the night was still lingering here. Legolas pushed his way into the room as quietly as he could and the doctor stayed by the doorway, observing without speaking.

Thranduil was in bed wearing a pastel colored gown ( _oh how he would hate it,_ Legolas smiled _, it must be low grade cotton_ ), and his hair was matted and pulled back from his face. Legolas walked closer and he could see that his hands were bandaged with several fingers on one hand in splints. And his face … there was a swath of bandages across his cheek, and one eye was swollen shut. He had a cannula running into his nostrils and a swirl of dark bruises around his neck.

 _Someone hurt him_ , Legolas thought, _this wasn’t an accident, someone did this._

The doctor coughed meaningfully and gestured for Legolas to go, but that only woke Thranduil up.

“Little Leaf?” Thranduil said.

“I’m here, _ada_ ,” Legolas said, rushing to his side.

“Good,” Thranduil said, patting his hand, “I was worried about you.”

“Me?” Legolas said.

“You’re my son,” Thranduil coughed, “It’s my job to worry about you.”

“Just worry about getting better first,” Legolas sighed, “You have my entire life to worry about me.”

“I will,” Thranduil smiled, his one good eye already drifting back to sleep.

“Good night,” Legolas said, and the doctor shepherded him back to the waiting room.


	77. What You Need

_Thranduil walked through the forest at night alone. All around him were trees. The trees were old, very old. And full of anger._

_Thranduil heard something moving in the shadows, something malicious with claws and pointed teeth. It started to get louder, the creature in the dark inviting friends, all of them hungry. Thranduil heard howling in the distance and spiders descended from the trees: biting him, wrapping him up and ensnaring him._

_Thranduil fought, fought as hard as he could. He didn’t want to die like this, not here._

_*             *             *             *             *_

“Thranduil!” someone shouted over the chaos of his thrashing limbs. They stood over him, holding him down. All Thranduil could see was their eyes, familiar eyes. Thranduil stilled beneath their grasp and tried to reign in his breathing.

“ _Galadriel?_ ” Thranduil said.

“Thank god you’re awake,” she said, loosening her grip. She looked down at the bed and pinched her brow with concern, “ _Shit,_ you’ve torn out your IV.”

Thranduil looked at his arm. There was a red explosion of fresh blood across white bedsheets where the needle had been ripped out of the skin, and the tube that was attached had been tossed over the bed to the floor. The wound didn’t hurt until Thranduil looked at it, but now the tiny bite of the needle reminded him too much of pincers. 

Thranduil shuddered. His heart was racing.

“What am I on, anyway?” Thranduil asked.

“Fluids, antibiotics, painkillers, a mild sedative,” Galadriel rattled the list offhand, as though she had memorized his chart. She pressed the blanket over where Thranduil's arm, which was still bleeding, and then she pressed a button on the hand rail, “How’s your breathing?”

“Fine,” Thranduil said. He looked around the room. Something was wrong, his field of vision felt too small. He had to turn his head to look at Galadriel. He tried to rub his eyes but Galadriel kept a tight grip on his arm.

“Keep still,” Galadriel said.

Thranduil used his free arm to graze over his face, “Oh.”

“What?”

“My eye, I can’t see anything,” Thranduil said. He looked down at his hand: it was covered in splints and bandages. Everything felt numb and stiff.

Galadriel looked up at him, pausing in her work to look at his unseeing eye, “I’ve called the nurse, we can ask what they think. Probably once the swelling goes down … it should be fine.”

“How long have you been here?” Thranduil said.

“I just arrived,” Galadriel said, “Arwen dropped by earlier, left you flowers. She’s the one who called me.”

“How thoughtful of her,” Thranduil said softly. He was still looking at his hand.

“I was really worried about you, you know,” Galadriel said, “I still am. I know you hate me but I’m just trying to help.”

Thranduil sighed, “I don’t  _hate_  you.”

“What?” Galadriel asked.

“Look, I know I’m an asshole, I just don’t like to be reminded about it all the time,” Thranduil said, “But you, however, seem to have taken that as your primary goal in life.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Galadriel said.

“You’re so full of shit,” Thranduil laughed.

“Fuck you,” Galadriel reddened against her will, “You  _ **are**_  an asshole.”

“I know,” Thranduil shrugged.

The nurse came in- Galadriel talked with the man about the incident with the IV and she asked him about Thranduil’s eye (and generally made Thranduil feel like a child as they talked right in front of him). Thranduil waited until his arm was bandaged up and then he whispered a question in the nurse’s ear.

“What was that?” Galadriel asked.

“I need to piss!” Thranduil announced loudly to the room, his brow was stern and he was solidly unbothered by the situation. He turned to Galadriel, “Could you leave now? Please.”

“Fine, fine,” Galadriel snapped. She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

The nurse helped prop Thranduil up and together they hobbled to the small bathroom in the corner.   

*             *             *             *             *

Galadriel walked down the hallway and through the large metal doors to the waiting room. She saw Legolas playing cards with Bard’s children, the four of them absorbed in a flurry of card slapping and rule invoking. Legolas looked like he was actually having fun. Bard meanwhile was propped up in the corner, his mouth agape with sleep. Galdriel cleared her throat and Legolas looked up. Legolas walked over to Bard and nudged him awake.

“ _Huh, what?_ ” Bard said, springing to attention, “I’m up, I’m up.”

“Sorry to wake you,” Galadriel said, “I just thought you should know that Thranduil is awake now.”

“Right, right,” Bard said, stretching his chest open and yawning big gulps of oxygen, “Good, thank you.”

“Well, I’ll just be going then,” Galadriel said.

“What?” Legolas asked, “But you just got here.”

“Thranduil already has all the support he needs here,” Galadriel said. Bard nodded and she walked to the front door.

Legolas followed her, grabbing her hand before she reached the front doors. She turned to face him and saw a tightness in his eyes. He looked so much like his father.

“About this morning, I wish I didn’t say those things I said,” Legolas said, "I blamed you when it wasn't your fault."

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad,” Galadriel said softly, “You were scared. Everyone says things they regret when they’re scared.”

“I still want to apologize anyway,” Legolas said.

_Now **there**  was something she would never expect Thranduil to say._

“Apology accepted,” Galadriel said, and she pulled Legolas into a tight hug.

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil had been sleeping for nearly five hours and Bard hadn’t wanted to disturb him. Bard realized now that this would be his first chance to see how things had really turned out. The heat of the moment filled both of them with enough adrenaline to carry them through the fight, but in the time that had elapsed since then they had each crashed in their own way. Already Bard felt like he had been hit by a truck. A truck full of anvils.

Bard opened the door and Thranduil was sitting up in bed trying to pull his robe closed with bandaged fingers, it wasn’t going very well.

Bard sat down next to him and pulled the strings into a neat knot that was able to preserve Thranduil's modesty without cutting off his circulation. Bard patted his shoulder and Thranduil turned to face him. The swelling along his eye and neck had turned into dark bruises, and Bard had no idea how bad the wound on his cheek was under all the gauze. Thranduil looked hurt, and looking at him hurt. Bard lowered his gaze.

“Hey,” Thranduil said, running a finger down Bard’s cheek, “Are you all right?”

“Sorry?” Bard looked up.

“Your skin is burned,” Thranduil said, “You look like a lobster.”

“I do feel cooked,” Bard chuckled.

Thranduil brought Bard’s hand to his uninjured cheek; he closed his eyes and sighed, “Warm.”

“Yeah,” Bard said. Thranduil leaned into his shoulder and Bard rested his head over Thranduil’s. They stayed there for a few moments, just breathing. Finally Bard spoke, “How are you, really?”

“I don’t know,” Thranduil said.

“Okay.”

“Thanks for bringing Legolas to see me,” Thranduil said.

“I love you, too,” Bard said.


	78. Brief Interviews with Hideous Men

Thorin was out of bed.

He shouldn’t have been out of bed. The maniacal beeping his exit triggered by removing his heart monitor should have been a tip off. If that wasn’t an obvious enough warning sign then the vertigo should have been the giveaway: this was a bad idea.  _Thorin had had a few bad ideas in his time- he should recognize them by now._

But Thorin had heard whispers.

Somewhere in this building the monster lurked, so they say, and Thorin had to know for sure.

So heart monitors and blood pressure and hospital-gowns-that-let-your-ass-hang-out be damned. If Smaug was in this hospital then Thorin was going to find that fucker.

*             *             *             *             *

Thorin walked through hallways filled with nurses and patients and family members. He was surrounded by the thrum of the nervous activity, the hustle and bustle of those committed to getting out alive. There was a sense of duty in a place like this that resonated with his ethos more than any boardroom ever would, the people here worked hard even though they know that eventually they will always lose. Thorin respected that; he understood it.

Thorin flirted with a nurse, a cherubic woman named Sandra who kept her hair in two long braids, and she was happy to direct him to the ICU. Then when Thorin got lost he flirted with another nurse, a gruff gentleman whose hands made it look like he worked in a woodshop (more of Thorin’s type, actually), and he led Thorin the rest of the way.

*             *             *             *             *

Thorin didn’t ask for permission, he just walked into the ICU like he belonged there. It helped that he looked like he belonged there: he was wheezing pretty heavily by that point and he was clinging to his IV stand for support.

Inside there was a bunch of semi enclosed spaces that looked more like viewing stages than rooms. Illness and trauma on display like high art, accompanied by the cacophony of beeping and pumping and weak noises of complaint from the semi-conscious. Nurses buzzed around like bees pollenating flowers, maintaining the delicate balance of care needed at all times. One man was clearly injured in an accident while an intubated woman in bed probably underwent a major operation.

At the end of the line a man was in bed hunched over a tray table in front of him, and a tube was protruding out of his back that emptied fluid into a plastic bag that was already half full. The man smiled up at Thorin.

“Mr. Durin,” Smaug said, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

He coughed violently until he was shaking and even more ashen faced than he already was.  

“Smaug … uh, how are you feeling?” Thorin asked.

“They won’t tell me if I’ll ever play the piano again,” Smaug said, coughing, “What do you think, you moron, I’ve been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Thorin asked, “One of your lackeys finally wise up and turn on you?”

“No, one of yours, I presume,” Smaug said, drawling a long ghastly breath, “A Mr. Bard Bowman.”

Thorin stood still, “He’s not one of mine.”

“He saved your life and you won’t claim him?” Smaug said, “I don’t think so. You can’t lie to me, Durin.”

“What do you want, Smaug?” Thorin said.

“What does any of us want?” Smaug said, “Life, liberty, and the ability to destroy the lives of people who cross us.”

“You won’t,” Thorin said.

“And why is that?” Smaug asked.

“Because if you do I’m going to go to the police with some new evidence about an unsolved murder case from a few years back. I think they would be very interested with my testimony.”

“Bluffing,” Smaug coughed.

“I kept more than just my contracts on that flash drive,” Thorin said, “I also have recordings for all business conversations that occurred in my office. I had a voice activated recorder in my desk.”

“What are your terms?” Smaug asked.

“A hair on the heads of Bard or his loved ones is harmed, the information will be automatically sent to the police,” Thorin said, “Anything happens to me or my loved ones, the information will be automatically sent to the police. If anyone of us is threatened, the information will be automatically …”

“Yes, yes,” Smaug said, “I get the picture, you don’t have to draw me a map.”

“One more thing,” Thorin said, “You leave town. You’re gone by tonight. I never want to see your ugly mug again. You lost all your Lake Town Privileges. Get the Fuck Out.”

“That’s going to be more difficult to arrange,” Smaug gestured at his bag full of lung fluid.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Thorin said.

Just then a nurse walked up and began attending to Smaug’s monitors and medicines. Smaug tried to sit up but lowered back with a grimace of pain.

“Midnight,” Thorin said. Then he was gone.


	79. Dead Men Tell No Tales

Bard was staring at the illuminated plastic packages inside of the vending machines in the lobby. Their taglines promised enough flavor to satisfy every craving, but Bard wasn't sure that anything in this ancient machine could honestly be labelled as 'food'.  He was just about to reach into his pocket for quarters when a hand reached out to tap him on the shoulder.

"Bard."  

"The _fuck_ ," Bard reeled, clutching his chest, "Thorin, I did not expect to see you here."

“Sorry about that,” Thorin said, “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

"It is okay,” Bard said, “I am glad to see that you are alive."

"I am glad that you to see that you are alive, as well," Thorin said, "Bilbo said ... we were not sure you had made it." 

"It was a long night," Bard said.

"Yeah, about that," Thorin said, "I wanted to ask you for some advice, man to man."

Bard nodded his assent and Thorin directed away from the machines, where a group of off duty nurses were perusing the selection of caffeinated beverages. Thorin and Bard walked into a small waiting room. The walls were dingy and gray, and the room was mostly empty. The only accoutrements were a coffee machine and a few books of illustrated Bible stories that the Gideon’s left for children. Thorin and Bard sat opposite each other in stiff wooden chairs.

"What's on your mind?" Bard asked. 

“You saved my life,” Thorin said, “And so I thought you should know that anyone who crosses Smaug has a target painted on their back.”

"Should I go to the police?" Bard asked. His mind raced to where his children were at that very moment, and how quickly he could reach them if he ran.

“No, the police are already investigating him. That's not the type of protection we need,” Thorin said, “I have something better.”

“What’s that?” Bard asked.

“Leverage,” Thorin said, “When Smaug tied me up at the Mountain he thought he was leaving me for dead. He got cocky, he revealed some of his dirty secrets."

“Thorin," Bard said, "What have you done?” 

“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Thorin said, “Smaug is an angry man, an angry man with none of the usual barriers to keep him from getting his way. He wouldn’t stop. He would never stop … I should have known that the fist time.”

“What are you trying to say?” Bard asked.

"Did you know Thranduil had a wife?" Thorin said.

“That was a long time ago,” Bard said, choking on his words, "Long before me."

Bard's eyes burned. Bard imagined the man that Thranduil must been when he was with her- a younger man chasing a beautiful young woman back before either of them knew heart ache or loss. The two of them raising their young son and planning for more, for so much more in a future together that they would never have. Thranduil never spoke of her except in fond allusions and passing traces of memories followed by long silences. It was a hole in Thranduil's life that Bard had no illusions of being able to fill. 

“If Thranduil were to find out what happened to her, if he finally knew _why_ ,” Thorin said, “Would that make things better or worse?”

“How could I know that,” Bard held his head in his hands, “How could I possibly know?”  

“I don’t know what to do! This isn’t my secret to carry,” Thorin said, “I don't know what the right course is to take from here, but I didn’t want this knowledge to die with me alone if I should have shared it.”

Bard looked up at Thorin. Despite the size of his reputation and the unyielding hatred Thranduil felt for him, Thorin looked rather small. Beyond that, he looked tired. Perhaps Thorin deserved a break, and if he needed one less secret to carry then Bard might be able to listen. 

“What happened to her,” Bard said, “What did he say?” 


	80. The Climb

When Bard arrived Thranduil was out of bed, standing by the window and holding his phone up to the sky as if hoping for a miracle.

“Bard, thank god, you have to get me out of here,” Thranduil turned to face Bard when he walked in, “I can’t find decent wifi anywhere. Where is this hospital anyway, the Twilight Zone?”

Bard walked to the window to join Thranduil.

“You should probably stay another night,” Bard said, “You’re not so good on your feet.”

“Nonsense,” Thranduil said, “They can’t do anything else for me here. I can sleep at home.”

“Come on, now,” Bard slipped his hand around Thranduil’s waist and guided him gently back down to the bed. Bard took the phone from him and clicked it off, setting it on the bedspread between them.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” Thranduil said.

“What are you so worried about?” Bard asked.

“After everything that happened … I don’t trust the silence of my own thoughts,” Thranduil sighed, rubbing his arms absentmindedly, “I don’t want to wake up alone in a strange place.”

Bard took his hand and kissed it gently.

“Come home with me,” Bard said, “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

*             *             *             *             *

Legolas talked with the doctors and helped Thranduil fill out the paperwork. Thranduil tried to fill it out by himself but he was still coming off of the sleep medicine and he kept staring blankly into space until Legolas nudged him back into the present moment.

“ _Ada,_ ” Legolas said.

“What, I’m awake,” Thranduil said. Legolas rolled his eyes, this was not the first time they had this conversation.

“I need your social security number,” Legolas said.

“I need coffee,” Thranduil moaned.

*             *             *             *             *

“Hey guys,” Bard said, sitting down with his kids, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” Bain said.

“Is Mr. Thranduil okay?” Tilda asked.

“Thranduil is going to be just fine,” Bard said, “He’s checking out today but he needs a little extra help at home and I offered to let him stay with us.”

“Would LG come with him?” Bain asked.

“Yes,” Bard said.

“Sleepover!” Tilda said, and Sigrid laughed.

“So you’re okay with this,” Bard said, looking around, “You can speak your mind if you are uncomfortable.”

“I like Thranduil,” Sigrid said, “I think he’s funny. I don’t mind if he stays with us.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Bain shrugged.

“I’m gonna get LG to braid my hair,” Tilda said.

“All right then,” Bard said, “What do you think about having pot-roast tonight?”

“Um, I’m a vegetarian?” Sigrid said.

“When did this happen?” Bard said.

“I’m just messing with you, papa,” Sigrid laughed, “Pot roast sounds great.”

*             *             *             *             *

Sigrid and Bain pulled the car around while a pair of nurses brought Thranduil out in a wheelchair.

“This is preposterous,” Thranduil sighed, “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

“It’s to protect against liability,” Legolas said, “The hospital doesn’t want to get sued.”

“For the record,” Thranduil turned to speak to the nurse pushing the wheelchair, “I have no intention of suing you.”

“I appreciate that,” the nurse said.

They exited the sliding doors at the patient drop-off on the side of the building. Bard walked up and shook hands with the nurses, “Thanks, we’ll take him from here!”

The nurses nodded and brought the wheelchair back inside.

“How are you feeling?” Bard asked.

Thranduil was wearing unwashed clothes and his hair was filthy. He looked unsteady on his feet and he was squinting angrily at the sunlight.

“Not great,” Thranduil said.

“I got you coffee,” Bard said.

“Thank you,” Thranduil said. He immediately pulled the lid off and breathed it in, taking in a long first swallow without even tasting it, " _Bless you_."

On the ride home Bard sat in the front seat to keep an eye Sigrid’s driving. Between the fresh dose of caffeine and the constant bucking of the brakes Thranduil felt much more awake by the end of the trip. When they arrived they all piled out onto the sidewalk in between their respective apartments.

“Legolas, could you pick up some clothes for me,” Thranduil asked, “And my toothbrush?”

“Of course,” Legolas said, “I need to check on Tauriel, anyway.”

“Who’s Tauriel?” Tilda asked.

“She’s his girlfriend,” Thranduil said over his shoulder, as though Legolas couldn't hear. Legolas groaned.

“She is _not_  his girlfriend” Bard said as he locked the car, “Legolas and Tauriel are just keeping it casual, jeez.”

Tilda and Bard broke into simultaneous laughter and Thranduil and Legolas shared a confused glance between them. Thranduil whispered, ‘ _Just go_ ’ and Legolas ran upstairs to their apartment to retrieve their things.

*             *             *             *             *

Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda raced upstairs and Bard was prepared to follow them, however, when he looked back he found Thranduil staring up at the staircase with distrust.

“You coming?” Bard asked.

“Why do we pay so much money to live in walk-ups?”

“It’s a historic district,” Bard said, “It preserves the charm.”

“Elevators were invented in the 1800s,” Thranduil moaned, “The world has moved on, what’s the holdup here?”

Bard waited for a moment, “Do you need a hand?”

“No, I can do this,” Thranduil said, “Just ... give me a moment.”

Thranduil and Bard walked up slower than they would on any other day, but Thranduil insisted on making the trip by his own volition. Thranduil didn’t protest when he felt a guiding hand at the small of his back.

“This is really strange,” Thranduil said.

“What is,” Bard said.

“Using one eye really messes with your depth perception,” Thranduil turned around and looked down behind them, “ _Fuck_.”

“We’re almost there,” Bard said.

“Right,” Thranduil said, taking one hand off the rail to grab Bard’s shoulder, “Almost there.”


	81. Dragonfire

Bard and Bain worked together in the kitchen to prepare the pot roast for that nights dinner. The roast was an old family recipe that Bard could easily have made in his sleep, but he reflected more than once that it was nice to have Bain there to help because Bard was tired, and increasingly hazy and distractable. From his place at the kitchen counter Bard could see Thranduil in the next room at the kitchen table with a glass of water and two Aspirin. Thranduil was so quiet, too quiet. Bard found himself peaking his head over just to check in on him.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Bain asked over Bard's shoulder.

"Hm?" Bard looked up from the cutting board and said, “Just a moment, keep chopping these carrots I’ll be right back.”

Bard sat down at the table next to Thranduil, taking his hand lightly. Thranduil looked up at Bard as though he was surprised to see him, “ _Hello_.”

“Is there something wrong?” Bard asked quietly, giving Thranduil's hand a little squeeze. Thranduil smiled.

“No,” Thranduil said, “I'm just waiting for Legolas.”

“Drink some water, you’ll feel better,” Bard kissed Thranduil's brow as he stood and left the table to rejoin his son in the kitchen.

It was a long time before Legolas came back, long enough that the oven was preheated and the roast was ready to bake. Bard was already washing his hands when he heard the knock at the door: Bain answered it.

“Hello Bain,” Legolas said. Legolas had a duffle bag over his shoulder and two plastic bags in his hand. He raised the bags over his head and called out to his father, “I got those prescriptions filled at the store down the street- seems like a lot for one person.”

“That’s because it’s not for one person,” Thranduil took the bags and reached inside to pull out a bottle, “Bard, this is for you.”

Bard looked up and accepted the bottle, the label had a picture of green leaves on it, “What’s this?”

“It’s for your skin, obviously,” Thranduil said, “I’ve mentioned that you look like a lobster, haven’t I?”

“It has come up, yes,” Bard smiled.

“Thank you Legolas,” Thranduil said. Thranduil went through the duffle bag and saw that in addition to a fresh set of clothes Legolas had included everything that Thranduil would need to wash and style his hair (along with several freshly laundered towels), “Above and beyond, as always Legolas.” 

“You’re welcome,” Legolas said.

*             *             *             *             *

There was still some light left for the afternoon, so Legolas and the other children journeyed to the local park to run through some drills and to play a little soccer. Bard stayed behind, claiming that he needed to keep an eye on the roast and to make some phone calls. The children didn't expend too much energy trying to convince their father to come along, not with LG to keep them company. They left the building with the team songs echoing through the halls behind them.

Thranduil retired to the master bath to steep his aching body in the warm water, and after showing him the taps and the drafts Bard left him to it. At first Bard was happy to get a little time to himself ... but after an hour he grew concerned as to what might be keeping Thranduil so long.

Bard walked back into the bathroom where the door was ajar and the released steam was billowing upward, and he found Thranduil standing hunched over the counter in front of an open box of bandages.

“Thranduil?” Bard asked, "What are you doing?"

“I fucked up my hand, and I’m useless with my left … can you help me wrap it back up?”

Bard looked and saw that without the splints and bandages Thranduil's knuckles were bruised and scraped. Thranduil's fingers were clinging awkwardly to a roll of bandages, and his discarded splints were scattered in pieces in front of him. 

“Yeah, of course,” Bard said, looking up to smile at him. As Thranduil turned Bard started. At some point during the evening Thranduil had removed the swath of gauze from over his cheek, and Bard saw for the first time what the wound really looked like. Thranduil's cheek was cut deep along his cheekbone all the way down his chin. Several layers of skin had been sloughed off and left angry red flesh underneath.

“ _Thranduil_ ," Bard reached out to comfort him, " _What happened?_ ” 

“That asshole fired a gun right next to my face,” Thranduil said, turning away.

“That didn’t do this,” Bard said, pulling Thranduil closer, “Please, tell me what happened.”

“Before you found me,” Thranduil said, “And before I fought with those idiot guards, Smaug came to see me.”

Bard bit his lip and waited for Thranduil to continue.

“Smaug wanted that flashdrive- the one Thorin came all this way to retrieve. Smaug thought I had it and he tried to get me to tell him where it was, but I wouldn’t talk,” Thranduil said, clearing his throat and drawing in a ragged breath, “I was determined, determined no matter what to show that I was not afraid. But he said that he had Legolas, he said that he would … he said the most _awful_ things.”

“Oh no,” Bard said.

“When Smaug left me to think about what he said, he taped my mouth shut,” Thranduil said, “I was too preoccupied to notice anything strange at first, but then I realized that the tape it didn’t feel right: it burned my skin. Not at first but it got worse and worse, until it became unbearable. I didn’t want to tear my skin but eventually in my panic I was clawing at my skin to get free. Only then even after I got the tape off, my skin still burned just as painfully. I didn't know what he had done to me. I couldn’t see what was happening. It was dark. It felt like I was on fire. All that I could think was, ' _The Bastard set me on fire_ '.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bard brought his mind back to remember the look in Thranduil’s eyes when Bard found him in that dark warehouse room holding a gun and ready to use it: the fury and the conviction. Now Bard understood.

“ER docs were able to neutralize the chemical reaction,” Thranduil said, “The skin should grow back, so the doctors say, it’s just enflamed right now. Still hurts like hell, though, and it's not easy on the eyes, either.”

“Why didn’t you didn’t tell me this before?” Bard stroked Thranduil’s uninjured cheek and Thranduil held his hand close.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” Thranduil said, “I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.”

“You scare me a little sometimes,” Bard said, “With what you say and what you don’t say.”

“Rethinking things already?” Thranduil asked.

“Oh no,” Bard laughed, stepping in closer, “It’s far too late for me now.”

“Good.”


	82. Filthy

Bard pulled Thranduil back together: applying salves, setting fingers back into splints and bandages, and covering wounds with gauze and tape. Bard guided Thranduil through zippers, buttons, and laces. The end result was not a man made whole, but a man on the mend. Bard took that as reward enough.

Bard walked to the doorway, ready to get back to the kitchen, when he heard Thranduil start up the bath again.

“What are you doing?” Bard asked.

“You’re filthy,” Thranduil said.

“Thanks,” Bard laughed.

“You’ll feel so much better when you wash away the smoke from your skin,” Thranduil waited for the water to get warm and then he plugged the stopper over the drain. Thranduil walked up to Bard, “Let me take care of you for a change, please?”

“The roast,” Bard said.

“I can take care of the roast too,” Thranduil leaned in to whisper in Bard’s ear, “ _Don’t make me beg_.”

“If you insist,” Bard shivered. Thranduil turned back to the tub and poured liberal amounts from several amber bottles into the churning water. Soon the room was filled with warm luxurious vapors. Bard was content to watch Thranduil work but Thranduil smirked up at him mischievously.

“Take off your clothes,” Thranduil said.

Thranduil walked up to Bard and kissed him: first on the mouth, then on the cheek, and down to his neck. Before Bard knew what was happening his belt was undone and his pants were around his ankles. Bard held his arms over his head and Thranduil slipped Bard's shirt up over his shoulders.

Thranduil stepped back to look at him, “Oh my.”

“Hm?” Bard said.

Thranduil stroked across Bard’s shoulders, deft fingers finding knots and bruises and scrapes laid out across his skin like a roadmap. In the open air Bard felt his skin crinkle and ache. Thranduil stopped at a bruise in the center of his chest and leaned down to kiss him, Bard flinched.

“That one was mine,” Thranduil said, “My apologies.”

“ _I have no interest in getting that fixed_ ,” Bard whispered breathlessly.

Thranduil laughed and led Bard to the bath; his grip was the anchor to solid ground as Bard slipped down into warm water. Thranduil left to pick the shorn clothing and to check the oven while Bard settled into the warm water. Bard involuntarily reclined his head against the tub as his muscles relaxed and his body went slack with relief. His eyes shut and his mouth curled up like a puppet pulled by a string.

“Enjoying yourself?” Thranduil asked.

“You were right,” Bard laughed, “This feels amazing.”

Thranduil settled in beside him, leaning one arm over the water to let his fingertips swish across the surface.

“I love you like this,” Thranduil stroked a trail of water down Bard’s cheek with the tip of his finger, “When you’re happy without trying to please anyone else, when you’re just free… You’re so beautiful like this.”

Bard turned to kiss him, to feel the warmth of his lips, because the fluttering in his chest could not survive in his body alone. Bard could see Thranduil even after he closed his eyes, he could see both of them from within and without, meeting in the middle to share a moment impossible to duplicate in the expanses of two lifetimes. It made Bard’s head swim, it made his lips tremble. It made Thranduil laugh.

“I love you,” Bard said.

Thranduil kissed him again, quicker, softer, “I know. Turn around I’m going to get your back.”

Bard complied and Thranduil brought a soapy cloth in small circles across the length of his shoulders, then down the length of his spine. Bard shuddered with pleasure as all of his unknown itches were finally scratched. Thranduil soaked the rag and wrung it out over Bard's back, Bard sighed happily.

“Rinse out your hair for me,” Thranduil said.

Bard leaned back and massaged his temples in the warm embrace of the water, letting it sink in against his scalp. When he rose his hair was heavy and sopping.

Thranduil got a comb and began pulling the water out with gentle strokes, starting from the bottom and working his way up. Bard felt the water cooling as it dripped down his shoulders; he felt the pull of his hair sorted patiently into proper alignment; and he felt the gentle massage of the comb against his skin. He hadn’t been so delicately and devotedly managed in his entire life.

Thranduil stopped and ran some more hot water into the bath. Then he poured out some soap from another bottle into the cloth and handed it to Bard.

Thranduil rose to his feet, “I’m going to check on dinner, don’t hurry.”

*             *             *             *             *

Thranduil returned as Bard was draining the bath. Thranduil left the door open to let out the steam coating the mirrors. Bard watched Thranduil move about the small room, collecting small bottles into a tray and placing a stack of towels on the tub. Bard brought one of the towels to his face and marveled in how warm it felt against his skin.

“They just came out of the dryer,” Thranduil said, “Let me.”

“Okay.”

Thranduil wrapped Bard’s hair up and away from his face. Then he lightly brushed away the water dripping down Bard’s body, leaving him glistening and a little cold.

“Hold out your hands,” Thranduil said, “This soaks-in better wet.”

Thranduil poured oil from a bottle onto Bard’s hands and he instructed Bard to rub his hands together until the oil was warm and pliant against his skin, and then to spread it across his body from bottom to top. His skin soaked it up like a thirsty sponge, and left him feeling soft and rejuvenated.

Thranduil gave him a robe and told him to sit on the tub.

“You’re still so red,” Thranduil said, laying the back of his hand against Bard’s chest. Bard did feel warm, like his skin was an overworked engine radiating heat.

Thranduil took the bottle with green leaves on the label and worked a dab of it onto his fingers. Thranduil massaged the lotion onto Bard’s face, and then lifted the robe to apply it to his shoulders and chest. Everywhere Thranduil touched was instantly cooled and soothed, and smelled faintly of mint.

Bard let out a sigh, relieved and a little in awe, “Thank you.”

“I’m not done,” Thranduil said. He unwrapped the towel from around Bard’s hair and pulled out a hair dryer and a brush.

“Where did you get that?” Bard asked over the whir of the machine.

“Sigrid’s room,” Thranduil said, “Sit still.”

Within a few minutes Bard was dried and combed. He felt a little disjointed not having to wait for his hair to air-dry, leaving a cold stain on the collar of his shirt, it was as though he had skipped some necessary step to the process.

Thranduil left to return the hair dryer and Bard picked clothes to wear: worn denim, soft flannel, and thick socks. When Thranduil returned he smiled from the doorway, admiring the view.

“How are you feeling?” Thranduil asked.

“Like a new man,” Bard said, stretching wide. Every aching part of his body had been dissolved into quietude, and the absence of pain felt like bliss, “How do I look?”

“Like a tall glass of water,” Thranduil said.

“Come here,” Bard said.


	83. The Squad Returns

Bard was busy plating out dinner when the kids came home, pink faced and filled with stories.

“Papa!” Tilda called out, “You won’t believe what LG showed me!"

“I’m sure you’ll show me soon enough,” Bard said, “Wash up, this is almost ready.”

“Yes, papa,” Tilda said, “Hello Mr. Thranduil.”

“Good evening, Tilda,” Thranduil nodded.

The parade of children passed by, leaving Legolas behind to stand with his father by the sink to wash his hands. Thranduil handed him a towel and Legolas thanked him.

Bard asked, “Can you get the steak knives?”

“I’ll get them,” Bain walked in and quickly took over. Sigrid and Tilda followed and began clearing the table, putting out sauces and spices, and filling glasses.

“You guys have fun?” Thranduil asked.

“Yeah,” Bain said, Sigrid and Tilda nodded their assent.

“Did they keep you busy?” Bard asked Legolas.

“Very busy,” Legolas poured a glass of water and drank half of it where he stood, “They did not take it easy on me.”

“Never surrender!” Tilda, Sigrid, and Bain said in unison with arms raised. Bain looked especially menacing because he was holding knives.

Soon the table was set and they all sat down to break bread together, after a short blessing they all tucked in.

“You look good, papa,” Sigrid said, “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” Bard smiled at Thranduil, “It’s amazing what a little TLC can do.”

“I borrowed your hair dryer, I hope you don’t mind,” Thranduil said, running a strand of hair behind Bard’s ear, “I couldn’t believe that he doesn’t own one.”

“You got papa to blow-dry his hair?” Sigrid laughed, “You can keep it!”

“I think you look nice,” Tilda said.

“Thanks sweetheart,” Bard said, “You were saying that Legolas showed you how to do something new?”

“Oh yeah,” Tilda said, launching into a story about how the four of them started a new regiment, and how she planned to start doing the new exercise at practices to help improve her game. Bain and Sigrid encouraged her, but Legolas would only smile coyly at her apparent enthusiasm. Thranduil snuck a glimpse at Bard, who was beaming, and he was glad to be there to see it.

*             *             *             *             *

After dinner when the table was cleared away Bain and Sigrid and Tilda argued about what game they were going to play. Legolas stayed behind to clean the dishes but Thranduil waved him off.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Thranduil said.

“Are you all right?” Legolas asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Thranduil said, “Go.”

Legolas patted him once on the shoulder, and Thranduil nodded. Legolas turned and walked away.

“You guys aren’t big on hugs, huh?” Bard said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator.

“Not really,” Thranduil mused, “He can be such a solemn boy.”

“He loves you, though,” Bard said.   

“Yes, yes I know,” Thranduil said.

“He knows you love him,” Bard said.

“I hope so,” Thranduil said.

“He does,” Bard said.

Thranduil smiled, a little half smile, and they cleaned the dishes in companionable silence. Bard washed, Thranduil dried, and in the other room Bard heard the themesong for Rainbow Road.


	84. Good Night Moon

Thranduil and Bard retired to the living room and to watch the news. The room was dark and the blue glow from the television screen cast more shadows across the room than light. Thranduil turned the volume down low and settled against Bard, but Bard was asleep before they cycled through the second weather report. Thranduil considered letting Bard sleep, the sofa was comfortable, after all ... but then he saw Bard's head fall down to his chest and Thranduil knew that Bard would be much more comfortable in his own bed.

Thranduil lifted Bard's arm so he could slip free and then he turned to shake Bard awake.

“ _Hm?_ ” Bard asked, his eyes half open.

“ _You were sleeping_ ,” Thranduil whispered, delicately pulling the hair away from Bard's brow.

“I’m up,” Bard said, rubbing his eyes.

“You don’t need to be awake,” Thranduil shook his head, “It’s been a long day, let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Bard said, locking his legs ramrod straight as he stretched, “I’ll just … tell the kids … Good-night.”

Thranduil patted Bard's knee and watched him amble off in the direction of the video game marathon. Thranduil heard the game pause as the children wished Bard good night, he could see Bard leaning down for hugs from the doorway. It was sweet, the kind of sentiment that Thranduil wasn’t sure existed outside of films or fairytales.

Bard came back and grabbed Thranduil’s hand to pull him up. Bard didn’t let go of Thranduil's hand, he patiently guiding Thranduil through the apartment all the way back to the bedroom. Thranduil appreciated this because the apartment was dark and still so unfamiliar, and he still felt off-balance with just the one eye. Thranduil held tight to Bard, and Bard held tight back.

*             *             *             *             *

“Did you have everything you need?” Bard asked as they brushed their teeth.

“Yes,” Thranduil said, “Does Legolas have a place to sleep?”

“There’s an extra bed in Bain’s room,” Bard said, “Bain and Tilda used to share but now she’s with Sigrid.”

“No boys allowed, huh?” Thranduil asked.

“Bain snores,” Bard said.

Thranduil snorted, “Very well then.”

*             *             *             *             *

Once they finished they stripped clothes, leaving jeans and shirts on the ground where they landed, and then they slipped gratefully into bed. But first, for a moment Bard stood by the doorway and watched Thranduil lying on what had for so long been the empty side of the bed.

“What is it?” Thranduil asked.

“It’s been a while, since …” Bard said.

“Come here,” Thranduil said.

Bard crawled into bed next to Thranduil and Thranduil wrapped the blankets around them. Bard let it sink in: Thranduil was in his bed. Bard knew that this was no longer just _his bed_ , and that this bed would no longer be the bed that he ‘ _once shared with his wife_.’ Now this bed was where Bard would sleep with Thranduil- like so many other spaces Thranduil entered he ended up ruling as sovereign.  Bard held Thranduil close, not wanting the moment to fade away.

“I’m mad about you,” Bard said, “You know that, right?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thranduil turned around and pulled Bard’s arm around him, easing their bodies together and settling against his chest. Bard could feel Thranduil's heart beating.

“ _I thought you didn’t like to be the little spoon_ ,” Bard whispered.

“ _Go to sleep, big spoon_ ,” Thranduil whispered.

“Good night.”


	85. Better Left Unsaid

_Bard was in the dark, groped by crushing hands being taken against his will somewhere unfriendly and unknown. Bard could feel their clammy breath on his skin. He could smell smoke._

_When they reached their destination Bard saw that Thranduil was already there. Bard tried to touch him but Thranduil didn’t feel him. Bard called out but Thranduil didn’t hear him._

_Thranduil wasn’t moving._

_Thranduil wasn’t breathing._

_Bard rolled Thranduil over and he was horrified to see that …_

 

Bard shivered, drawing in a pained breath. He counted to ten. Then he counted to ten again. He was home, and dreams were only dreams. Thranduil was lying next to him, breathing, warm and full of life. But in the darkness nothing felt completely real, it felt as though this reassuring illusion would shatter at any moment.

Bard tried to fall back to sleep but a secret sat heavily on his chest. He had to speak now, while the night was both real and unbearably unreal, to expose his conscience before it consumed him.

*             *             *             *             *

“ _Thranduil_.”

Bard’s voice drifted through the mist of sleep, Thranduil woke to find the room bathed in cool blue light. It must be early now, hours before the day began. They were awake in a quiet sleeping world. Bard sat beside him leaning against the backboard.

“Thranduil, I need to tell you something.”

“You have my attention,” Thranduil rumbled. He rolled to lean his head against Bard’s hip, too tired to sit up properly.

“It’s about Smaug: I don’t think your wife’s death was an accident,” Bard said, “I think it was an attack on her life, an attack meant for you.”

“Smaug? What? Why would you say this?” Thranduil tossed and turned, rubbing his one good eye- then his brain settled, “ _Thorin_.”

“Yes,” Bard said.

“Do not speak to me of Thorin,” Thranduil said, his voice cold, “I don’t give a damn what he _thinks_ he knows; he doesn’t know anything about my life or my family.”

“He said that something is going to happen tonight,” Bard continued, once started he was unable to stop himself, “He said that Smaug was going to make a run for it.”

Bard watched Thranduil waiting for his reaction, but his reaction was one that Bard did not expect.

“Let him,” Thranduil said.

“What?” Bard asked.

“Let him run. Let him hide. Let him crawl into some deep dark pit,” Thranduil said, “I hope he rots there.”

“But what about your wife?” Bard asked, “Don’t you want justice, don’t you want to know?”

“She’s dead,” Thranduil said, “Chasing after her won’t bring her back; it will only bring pain, for Legolas and for myself.”

It was dark and quiet then. And in the quiet Bard knew that Thranduil must be remembering all the years he spent with someone else, and all the years he spent since without her. Thranduil kept his distance around a broken heart, never straying too close lest he risk drowning in it: who was Bard to judge, didn’t he know about this better than anyone?

“I’m sorry,” Bard cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place.”

“Don’t say that,” Thranduil said, “You told me because you cared too much keep it from me. You told me because you cared too much to lie. You say that it wasn’t your place to say these things but this is your place: your place is with me. Please believe that.”

“I believe you, I do,” Bard said, laying down to sleep and bringing the blanket up over them both. He waited a while, listening to Thranduil breathing. Eventually he added, “ _I’m still sorry_.”

“ _Don’t be_ ,” Thranduil said, his voice already half gone, “ _Go to sleep_.”


	86. Eagles Are Coming

Thorin was renting now.

It was strange to set down roots, even temporarily, but he was enjoying having a place that he could call his own again. The best part was that his boys loved it.

As Thorin walked about the few sparsely decorated rooms the small legion of dogs crowded his heels and made whining noises until they were fed (the only time Bombur showed any speed was when he heard the kibble poured into their bowls). They were good dogs, all of them: Dori, Ori, and Nori chased each other around the apartment fighting for space on the doggy beds while Oin and Gloin watched them with haggard eyes. Dwalin would only ever bark when that pesky little pedant Alfrid walked by, startling the man all the way out from the sidewalk where he would shake an indignant fist at Thorin’s window. Bifur and Bofur devoured a never-ending series of bones to keep from chewing on furniture and shoes (Bifur was never quite the same since he fell on his head as a puppy). Fili and Kili were getting to be grown now, but not nearly full-grown: they would always be puppies to Thorin.

The dogs were accustomed to Thorin leaving for prolonged periods of time, but soon after the move they expected him home every day at the same time. Balin would stay by the front door all day waiting for Thorin to return, lifting his grey terrier beard off the ground with sleepy excitement when he heard Thorin turn his key in the lock.

The move was necessitated by the extensive amount of time to handle the legalities of the incident up at the mountain. Thorin managed to avoid criminal charges and after a few contentious months the threats of lawsuits dissipated. Thorin’s assets were still tied up following the ruling of the lawsuits from the first accident – but Thorin used his new insight to request another examination of the evidence gathered after the accident and now it looked like the insurance companies were finally going to reevaluate his claim. Even if Thorin never made another dollar, maybe he could get the people in town to look him in the eye again, one day.

In short, Thorin’s luck was finally turning around (even though the only people in this circus making any money were the lawyers).

Thorin sat on a bench outside. Birds sang, people walking by laughed in their own private conversations, and the dogs rolled around lazily in the midday sun. Thorin hadn’t felt this much at peace in years.

“Thorin?”

Thorin popped out of his reverie, “Yes, Bilbo?”

“I just came to say goodbye.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Well,” Bilbo shrugged, laughing to himself, “I don’t know if SIX WEEKS qualifies as _soon_...”

“It feels soon,” Thorin said.

“It does.”

A small army of dogs surrounded Bilbo, whining and nipping as though sensing his departure. They had all gotten very close in the past few weeks, with Bilbo visiting so often and bringing them little treats out of his coat pockets. Thorin often suspected that some if not all of his dogs now liked the gardener even better than Thorin.

“Bilbo, wait,” Thorin said.

Bilbo interrupted him, “If you ever pass through Bag End, tea is at four. You are welcome ANY time. Don't bother knocking!”

Thorin thought back to Bilbo’s warm hearth and his low ceilings, the garden overflowing with flowers and vegetables and herbs. It seemed so far away from here, a lifetime away.

“You remember back on the mountain,” Thorin said, “When I told you something that you couldn’t hear?”

“Yeah,” Bilbo said, “Finally feel like telling me what you said, then?”

Thorin laughed, “Well, it’s hard to say in words, do you mind if I show you?”

“Of course,” Bilbo said.

Thorin stood up and walked over to Bilbo, taking his hand and pulling him close. Their eyes met, their mouths inching closer. Bilbo took in a sharp breath and Thorin paused.

“I was going to say …”

“Shut up,” Bilbo said.

Bilbo pulled Thorin down for a tight kiss on the lips, holding him in long enough to say all that this was not: this was _not_ an accident, this was _not_ a token of polite affection, and this most definitely was _not_ a cute little kiss on the forehead. It was a warm kiss, insistent but not rough. Bilbo tasted like honey and his nose brushed up against Thorin’s like a little button. It was not the kind of kiss that results from drunken mistakes, it was the kind of kiss one gives someone after they’ve spent months trying not to kiss them even though their heart desired it more than anything else in the world. Thorin couldn’t help but feel foolish, having underestimated his friend in yet another way. Bilbo was always proving him wrong.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Bilbo asked.

“More or less,” Thorin said.

“Then I wish you’d told me sooner,” Bilbo said.

“Do you have to go?” Thorin asked, wrapped up in another person and quite unwilling to let go.

“Yes! People at home must think that I’ve up and died by now,” Bilbo said, “They’ve probably made a move trying to clear out my silverware.”

“Protecting your hoard?” Thorin asked.

“I got that silver from my grandmother,” Bilbo said, “I’ll be in the ground for real before I let some fool of a Took run off with it.”

“Fair enough,” Thorin smiled imagining that after all of this larger than life drama Bilbo would return to fight the smaller battles of missing spoons and knives.

“Farewell, Master Gardener,” Thorin bowed gallantly, “Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold this world would be a merrier place.”

“Farewell Thorin,” Bilbo bit his lip, then nodded, “Until Next Time.”

Bilbo departed, soon to leave on a ferry out of town. Thorin watched him go, as all the dogs strained on their leashes to follow. Even Dwalin started barking after him, in a tone that Thorin had never heard before: gentle, a little sad.

“We’ll see him again soon, lads,” Thorin said, stroking them until they calmed back down again, “Very soon.”


	87. Journey's End.

There was always so much to do on nights like these: greeting guests, directing the flow of traffic through the party, mingling among the crowd to ensure that everyone has a good time. Names must be remembered, egos served, all the unspoken delicacies polite society demands. And those are only the social responsibilities; there were also hors d'oeuvres to consider, drinks to serve, and empty trays to collect. The music must always be tasteful, never overpowering. The secret is to play music that your guests can hear but that they won’t actually listen to; that is the blank canvas from which easy conversation springs.

The art of hosting a party is actually so demanding that it completely wrecks the fun of it, unless you have help. And this time Thranduil did.

Legolas was charming all the little old ladies with polite smiles and flattering conversation. Bain and Sigrid were passing out drinks, Tilda collected coats. Twice Thranduil caught Bard trying to help in the kitchen but Thranduil swatted him away.

“I’m just trying to help,” Bard said.

“Nonsense,” Thranduil said, “You are not here to cook you are here to campaign.”

“It’s a small office,” Bard said, “I might not even win.”

Several months ago a member of the local Town Council snorted enough white powder up their nose to spend half of the Parks budget. The scandal and inevitable ousting left an open seat - and Thranduil decided almost instantly that the seat belonged to Bard.

“You will win,” Thranduil said, “Because you are the best man in town for the job and everyone in that room knows it.”

“Right,” Bard said, wondering if Thranduil said that enough times if he might actually start to believe that it was true, “How do I look?”

Bard was wearing a charcoal gray suit, impeccably tailored and perfectly draped. Bard wore a bronze tie that Thranduil had to fight for him to wear (now that he admired the result Thranduil was glad that he’d won, because he loved being proven right). Bard’s hair was pulled back and away from his face so that his strongest features were accentuated instead of hidden. A far cry from the rustic man running the ferry in and out of town, and yet this new side of him looked entirely fitting, like it was waiting underneath all along.

“You look devastating,” Thranduil said, “They won’t know what hit them.”

“You’re biased,” Bard said.

“But I’m not wrong,” Thranduil said, and he took Bard’s hand, “Come on, I think some old friends have stopped by to wish you luck, let’s be gracious.”

*             *             *             *             *

Galadriel looked around that realized that she might just be the most well dressed person at this party, the thought made her smile. She prided herself on being fashion forward, but when she had the new Armani line to work with (and finally blazers were back in style) she felt extra confident that no one else came close.

At least she felt that way until she saw Bard.

“ _Bellisimo!_ ” she cried out, rushing to meet him, “You look fabulous!”

“Thank you,” Bard said, “And you look stunning, as always.”

Bard caught her hand in his and kissed it gently, she turned her head demurely as though she had never expected such a thing.

“Great party,” Galadriel said, looking about the room filled with smiling people chatting amiably. Everyone was wearing pins with Bard’s name on it in large lettering and the date of the election written beneath.

“I’ll save your compliments for Thranduil,” Bard said, “This was all his doing.”

“Well, if Thranduil is involved then I can expect good wine, at the very least,” Galadriel laughed. Bard smiled tightly.

“Hello Galadriel,” Thranduil said from over her shoulder. He walked past her to Bard and slipped his arm around Bard’s waist, “Having a good time, I take it?”

“Good, I always love catching up with old friends,” Galadriel said, “How are you doing these days?”

“Busy, in the best way,” Thranduil said, squeezing Bard tight, “Of course we’ll be even busier when you win.”

“ _If_ I win,” Bard said.

“These people didn’t come here to talk about _if_ they supported you,” Thranduil said, “They came here because they believe in you, almost as much as I do.”

“Thranduil’s right,” Galadriel said, “You’re the only candidate worth considering, everyone says so.”

“Thank you,” Bard said, “I will work hard to make sure that’s true.”

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil said, “But can we get that on tape? You said I was _right?_ ”

“And where is Gandalf this evening?” Bard changed the subject.

“Oh, he’s out I know not where,” Galadriel sighed, “I can never hold him down for long.”

“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” Bard said. Galadriel smiled.

*             *             *             *             *

As the night wore on Bard grew more relaxed in his place in the spotlight. These were all people that he had known in for years, and none of them seemed to notice what a fraud he felt like in a suit- most of them just wished him luck with the campaign. Bain came to stand by his side, and Bard felt his confidence grow. Together they met with the local business leaders and managed to get through all their questions without faltering. Bain took all their cards and put them in his pocket for later.

“I’m really glad you’re here tonight,” Bard said.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bain said.

Off to the side of the room Bard saw Thranduil talking with Sigrid, they winked up at him as though they knew he was looking all along. 

*             *             *             *             *

After drinks, after dinner, Bard made his speech. He stood on stairs at the front of the room and spoke into a microphone as everyone turned in their seats to face him. He was nervous at first, but no one was looking at their phones from what he could see, and slowly Bard gained momentum. Still, he was relieved when he could end his speech,

“And I wanted to thank all of you for coming tonight: it is my love for this town that inspired me to run for office and I don’t ever want to forget that.”

There was a round of applause throughout the room, Bard had to wait for it to die down before he could continue.

“As I go forward with this campaign, I want to remember all the people who helped me get here tonight,” Bard said, “First of all my children.”

Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda stood to wave at the crowd, everyone cheered appreciatively. Bain blushed but Tilda curtseyed regally.

“I also want to thank my coworkers, my friends, and everyone down at the print shop who made all these little buttons,” Bard gestured around at all the buttons shining back at him and people laughed.

“But the person I want to thank the most is the person who convinced me that this was a good idea in the first place,” Bard said, “I can’t list all the things that he’s done for me over the past few months, we’d be here all night.”

The crowd tittered.

Bard cleared his throat, “So to you, Thranduil, I wanted to say thank you. You saw something in me even when I didn’t see it myself, and I can’t imagine making this journey without you. Thank you, I love you.”

Everyone stood to clap and Bard lowered his microphone, his speech finished. Bard chanced a look at Thranduil’s table. Thranduil smiled at him and mouthed _I love you, too_ ; beside him Legolas was smiling and Galadriel wiped her eyes with a napkin.

*             *             *             *             *

Late that night as most everyone left, the music was turned up while they began to clear the tables. Bard’s feet were killing him but he stayed up to say goodbye to everyone. Finally he was able to sit down, loosen his tie and let out an anxious breath that had been shaking in his chest all evening. He felt a tapping at his shoulder,

“Can I have this dance?”

Bard looked up at Thranduil, “I’d be honored.”

Bard settled against Thranduil, the pair of them swaying more than dancing. Thranduil held his hand aloft and carried him in the façade of a waltz. Bard giggled with a breathless exhaustion as Thranduil spun him around.

“You dance very well,” Bard said, “Of course you do.”

Thranduil smiled. A ghost of scars played in the shadow of his face when he smiled, but Bard loved his smile too much to notice.

“I can give you lessons some time,” Thranduil said.

“I can think of a place where dance lessons might come in handy,” Bard whispered.

“And where is that?” Thranduil whispered back.

“Would you like to make an honest man out of me?” Bard asked.

“Oh please,” Thranduil said, “You’re already honest, you would be making an honest man out of me.”

“Is that a yes?” Bard asked.

“Of course it’s a yes,” Thranduil said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thanks for reading and thanks for all of your hits and kudos and comments. I'll probably keep editing this, and I might add in some new material so watch out for that. Don't worry, I won't write a Deathly Hallows style epilogue where everyone gives their babies stupid names. ;)


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